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Men  of  iron 


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HENRY    OF    LANCASTER    WHO    IN    I399     AS     HENRY     IV    BECAME     ENGLAND  S     KING     IN 
THE    STEAD    OF    THE    WEAK,  WICKED,    AND    TREACHEROUS    RICHARD    II 


MEN  OF  IRON 


BY 

HOWARD    PYLE 

AUTHOR   OF 

"the  wonder  clock"  "pepper  and  salt" 
"the  rose  of  paradise"  etc. 


Ullustratefc 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 
HARPER     &     BROTHERS     PUBLISHERS 


Men  of  Ibon 


Copyright,  1891,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Copyright,  1919,  by  Anne  Poole  Pyle 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

D-B 


J 


Ljbiary,  Univ   ot 
Nnrlf)    C.-?unlin,? 


TO 

MY    FRIEND    AND    CRITIC 

/.  HENRY  HARPER 

Js  inscribe** 

ALL  THAT  MAY  BE  OF  WORTH 
IN  THIS  VOLUME 

H.  P. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Henry  of  Lancaster  who  in  1899  as  Henry  IV  became 

England's  King  in  ihejtead  of  the  weak,  wicked, 

and  treacherous  Richard  II Frontispiece 

"Myles,  as  in  a  dream,  kneeled,  and  presented  the 

letter11 Facing  page       28 

"'When  thou  strikest  that  lower  cut  at  the  legs,  recover 

thyself  more  quickly'" "  48 

"At  last  they  had  the  poor  boy  down" "  68 

" Myles  pushed  tlie  door  farther  open" "  82 

"They  bore  him  away  to  a  bench  at  the  far  end  of  the 

room" .  "  112 

"  'But  tell  me,  Robin  Ingoldsby,  dost  know  aught  more 

of  this  matter?'" "  122 

"'Belike  thou  sought  to  take  this  lad's  life,'  said  Sir 

James" "  136 

Myles  entertains  the  Lady  Anne  and  the  Lady  Alice 

with  his  adventures "  156 

" Myles  found  himself  standing  beside  the  bed"      .  "  174 

The  Earl  of  Mackworth  received  King  Henry  IV  .      .  "  192 

" Lord  George  led  him  to  where  the  King  stood"       .    .  "  212 

"  These  he  watched  and  guarded  while  the  others  slept"  "  220 

"'My  Lord,'  said  he,  'the  favor  was  given  to  me  by  the 

Lady  Alice'" *'  246 

Prior  Edward  and  Myles  in  tlie  Priory  Garden     .      .  "  266 

The  Challenge "  292 

"He  held  tightly  to  the  fallen  man's  horse"      ...  "  32c? 


MEN    OF   IRON. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  year  1400  opened  with  more  than  usual 
peacefulness  in  England.  Only  a  few  months 
before,  Richard  II. — weak,  wicked,  and  treach- 
erous— had  been  dethroned,  and  Henry  IV.  de- 
clared King  in  his  stead.  But  it  was  only  a 
seeming  peacefulness,  lasting  but  for  a  little 
while ;  for  though  King  Henry  proved  himself  a 
just  and  a  merciful  man — as  justice  and  mercy 
went  with  the  men  of  iron  of  those  days — and 
though  he  did  not  care  to  shed  blood  needlessly, 
there  were  many  noble  families  who  had  been 
benefited  by  King  Richard  during  his  reign,  and 
who  had  lost  somewhat  of  their  power  and  pres- 
tige from  the  coming  in  of  the  new  King. 

Among  these  were  a  number  of  great  lords — • 
the  Dukes  of  Albemarle,  Surrey,  and  Exeter,  the 


Marquis  of  Dorset,  the'  Earl  of  Gloucester,  and 
others — who  had  been  degraded  to  their  former 
titles  and  estates,  from  which  King  Richard  had 
lifted  them.  These  and  others  brewed  a  secret 
plot  to  take  King  Henry's  life,  which  plot  might 
have  succeeded  had  not  one  of  their  own  number 
betrayed  them. 

Their  plan  had  been  to  fall  upon  the  King 
and  his  adherents,  and  to  massacre  them  dur- 
ing a  great  tournament,  to  be  held  at  Oxford. 
But  Henry  did  not  appear  at  the  lists;  where- 
upon, knowing  that  he  had  been  lodging  at  Wind- 
sor with  only  a  few  attendants,  the  conspirators 
marched  thither  against  him.  ( In  the  mean  time 
the  King  had  been  warned  of  the  plot,  so  that, 
instead  of  finding  him  in  the  royal  castle,  they 
discovered  through  their  scouts  that  he  had  hur- 
ried to  London,  whence  he  was  even  then  march- 
ing against  them  at  the  head  of  a  considera- 
ble army.  So  nothing  was  left  them  but  flight. 
Some  betook  themselves  one  way,  some  another* 
some  sought  sanctuary  here,  some  there;  but 
one  and  another,  they  were  all  of  them  caught 
and  killed. 

The  Earl  of  Kent — one  time  Duke  of  Surrey 
— and  the  Earl  of  Salisbury  were  beheaded  in  the 
market-place  at  Cirencester;  Lord  Le  Despencer 
— once  the  Earl  of  Gloucester — and  Lord  Lumley 


met  the  same  fate  at  Bristol ;  the  Earl  of  Hunt- 
ingdon was  taken  in  the  Essex  fens,  carried  to 
the  castle  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  whom  he 
had  betrayed  to  his  death  in  King  Richard's 
time,  and  was  there  killed  by  the  castle  people. 
Those  few  who  found  friends  faithful  and  bold 
enough  to  afford  them  shelter,  dragged  those 
friends  down  in  their  own  ruin. 

Just  such  a  case  was  that  of  the  father  of  the 
boy  hero  of  this  story,  the  blind  Lord  Gilbert 
Reginald  Falworth,  Baron  of  Falworth  and  East- 
erbridge,  who,  though  having  no  part  in  the 
plot,  suffered  through  it  ruin,  utter  and  complete. 

He  had  been  a  faithful  counsellor  and  adviser 
to  King  Richard,  and  perhaps  it  was  this,  as 
much  and  more  than  his  roundabout  connec- 
tion with  the  plot,  that  brought  upon  him  the 
punishment  he  suffered. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Myles  Falworth  was  but  eight  years  of  age 
at  that  time,  and  it  was  only  afterwards,  and  when 
he  grew  old  enough  to  know  more  of  the  ins  and 
outs  of  the  matter,  that  he  could  remember  by 
bits  and  pieces  the  things  that  afterwards  hap- 
pened; how  one  evening  a  knight  came  clatter- 
ing into  the  court-yard  upon  a  horse,  red-nostrilled 
and  smeared  with  the  sweat  and  foam  of  a  des- 
perate ride — Sir  John  Dale,  a  dear  friend  of  the 
blind  Lord. 

Even  though  so  young,  Myles  knew  that  some- 
thing very  serious  had  happened  to  make  Sir 
John  so  pale  and  haggard,  and  he  dimly  remem- 
bered leaning  against  the  knight's  iron-covered 
knees,  looking  up  into  his  gloomy  face,  and  ask- 
ing him  if  he  was  sick  to  look  so  strange.  There- 
upon those  who  had  been  too  troubled  before  to 
notice  him,  bethought  themselves  of  him,  and 
sent  him  to  bed,  rebellious  at  having  to  go  so 
early. 


He  remembered  how  the  next  morning,  look- 
ing out  of  a  window  high  up  under  the  eaves,  he 
saw  a  great  troop  of  horsemen  come  riding  into 
the  court -yard  beneath,  where  a  powdering  of 
snow  had  whitened  everything,  and  of  how  the 
leader,  a  knight  clad  in  black  armor,  dismounted 
and  entered  the  great  hall  door-way  below,  fol- 
lowed by  several  of  the  band. 

He  remembered  how  some  of  the  castle  wom- 
en were  standing  in  a  frightened  group  upon  the 
landing  of  the  stairs,  talking  together  in  low 
voices  about  a  matter  he  did  not  understand, 
excepting  that  the  armed  men  who  had  ridden 
into  the  court-yard  had  come  for  Sir  John  Dale. 
None  of  the  women  paid  any  attention  to  him ; 
so,  shunning  their  notice,  he  ran  off  down  the 
winding  stairs,  expecting  every  moment  to  be 
called  back  again  by  some  one  of  them. 

A  crowd  of  castle  people,  all  very  serious  and 
quiet,  were  gathered  in  the  hall,  where  a  num- 
ber of  strange  men-at-arms  lounged  upon  the 
benches,  while  two  billmen  in  steel  caps  and 
leathern  jacks  stood  guarding  the  great  door,  the 
butts  of  their  weapons  resting  upon  the  ground, 
and  the  staves  crossed,  barring  the  door-way. 

In  the  anteroom  was  the  knight  in  black  ar- 
mor whom  Myles  had  seen  from  the  window. 
He  was  sitting  at  the  table,  his  great  helmet  ly* 

5 


ing  upon  the  bench  beside  him,  and  a  quart  beak- 
er of  spiced  wine  at  his  elbow.  A  clerk  sat  at 
the  other  end  of  the  same  table,  with  inkhorn  in 
one  hand  and  pen  in  the  other,  and  a  parchment 
spread  in  front  of  him. 

Master  Robert,  the  castle  steward,  stood  before 
the  knight,  who  every  now  and  then  put  to  him  a 
question,  which  the  other  would  answer,  and  the 
clerk  write  the  answer  down  upon  the  parchment. 

His  father  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace, 
looking  down  upon  the  floor  with  his  blind  eyes, 
his  brows  drawn  moodily  together,  and  the  scar 
of  the  great  wound  that  he  had  received  at  the 
tournament  at  York — the  wound  that  had  made 
him  blind — showing  red  across  his  forehead,  as 
it  always  did  when  he  was  angered  or  troubled. 

There  was  something  about  it  all  that  fright- 
ened Myles,  who  crept  to  his  father's  side,  and 
slid  his  little  hand  into  the  palm  that  hung  limp 
and  inert.  In  answer  to  the  touch,  his  father 
grasped  the  hand  tightly,  but  did  not  seem  other- 
wise to  notice  that  he  was  there.  Neither  did 
the  black  knight  pay  any  attention  to  him,  but 
continued  putting  his  questions  to  Master  Robert. 

Then,  suddenly,  there  was  a  commotion  in  the 
hall  without,  loud  voices,  and  a  hurrying  here 
and  there.  The  black  knight  half  arose,  grasp* 
ing  a  heavy  iron  mace  that  lay  upon  the  bench 


beside  him,  and  the  next  moment  Sir  John  Dale 
himself,  as  pale  as  death,  walked  into  the  ante- 
chamber.  He  stopped  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
room.  "I  yield  me  to  my  Lord's  grace  and 
mercy,"  said  he  to  the  black  knight,  and  they 
were  the  last  words  he  ever  uttered  in  this  world. 

The  black  knight  shouted  out  some  words  of 
command,  and  swinging  up  the  iron  mace  in  his 
hand,  strode  forward  clanking  towards  Sir  John, 
who  raised  his  arm  as  though  to  shield  himself 
from  the  blow.  Two  or'  three  of  those  who 
stood  in  the  hall  without  came  running  into  the 
room  with  drawn  swords  and  bills,  and  little 
Myles,  crying  out  with  terror,  hid  his  face  in  his 
father's  long  gown. 

The  next  instant  came  the  sound  of  a  heavy 
blow  and  of  a  groan,  then  another  blow  and  the 
sound  of  one  falling  upon  the  ground.  Then  the 
clashing  of  steel,  and  in  the  midst  Lord  Falworth 
crying,  in  a  dreadful  voice,  "Thou  traitor!  thou 
coward!  thou  murderer!" 

Master  Robert  snatched  Myles  away  from  his 
father,  and  bore  him  out  of  the  room  in  spite  of 
his  screams  and  struggles,  and  he  remembered 
just  one  instant's  sight  of  Sir  John  lying  still  and 
silent  upon  his  face,  and  of  the  black  knight 
standing  above  him,  with  the  terrible  mace  in  his 
hand  stained  a  dreadful  red. 

2_ 


It  was  the  next  day  that  Lord  and  Lady  Fal- 
worth  and  little  Myles,  together  with  three  of 
the  more  faithful  of  their  people,  left  the  castle. 

His  memory  of  past  things  held  a  picture  for 
Myles  of  old  Diccon  Bowman  standing  over  him 
in  the  silence  of  midnight  with  a  lighted  lamp 
in  his  hand,  and  with  it  a  recollection  of  being 
bidden  to  hush  when  he  would  have  spoken,  and 
of  being  dressed  by  Diccon  and  one  of  the  wom- 
en, bewildered  with  sleep,  shuddering  and  chat- 
tering with  cold. 

He  remembered  being  wrapped  in  the  sheep- 
skin that  lay  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  and  of  being 
carried  in  Diccon  Bowman's  arms  down  the  si- 
lent darkness  of  the  winding  stair-way,  with  the 
great  black  giant  shadows  swaying  and  flickering 
upon  the  stone  wall  as  the  dull  flame  of  the  lamp 
swayed  and  flickered  in  the  cold  breathing  of  the 
night  air. 

Below  were  his  father  and  mother  and  two  or 
three  others.  A  stranger  stood  warming  his  hands 
at  a  newly-made  fire,  and  little  Myles,  as  he  peeped 
from  out  the  warm  sheepskin,  saw  that  he  was 
in  riding-boots  and  was  covered  with  mud.  He 
did  not  know  till  long  years  afterwards  that  the 
stranger  was  a  messenger  sent  by  a  friend  at  the 
King's  court,  bidding  his  father  fly  for  safety. 

They  who  stood  there  by  the  red  blaze  of  the 


fire  were  all  very  still,  talking  in  whispers  and 
walking  on  tiptoes,  and  Myles's  mother  hugged 
him  in  her  arms,  sheepskin  and  all,  kissing  him, 
with  the  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks,  and 
whispering  to  him,  as  though  he  could  under- 
stand their  trouble,  that  they  were  about  to  leave 
their  home  forever. 

Then  Diccon  Bowman  carried  him  out  into 
the  strangeness  of  the  winter  midnight. 

Outside,  beyond  the  frozen  moat,  where  the 
osiers  stood  stark  and  stiff  in  their  winter  naked- 
ness, was  a  group  of  dark  figures  waiting  for  them 
with  horses.  In  the  pallid  moonlight  Myles  rec- 
ognized the  well-known  face  of  Father  Edward, 
the  Prior  of  St.  Mary's. 

After  that  came  a  long  ride  through  that  silent 
night  upon  the  saddle-bow  in  front  of  Diccon 
Bowman ;  then  a  deep,  heavy  sleep,  that  fell  upon 
him  in  spite  of  the  galloping  of  the  horses. 

When  next  he  woke  the  sun  was  shining,  and 
his  home  and  his  whole  life  were  changed. 


CHAPTER  II. 

From  the  time  the  family  escaped  from  Fal- 
worth  Castle  that  midwinter  night  to  the  time 
Myles  was  sixteen  years  old  he  knew  nothing  of 
the  great  world  beyond  Crosbey-Dale.  A  fair 
was  held  twice  in  a  twelvemonth  at  the  market- 
town  of  Wisebey,  and  three  times  in  the  seven 
years  old  Diccon  Bowman  took  the  lad  to  see  the 
sights  at  that  place.  Beyond  these  three  glimpses 
of  the  outer  world  he  lived  almost  as  secluded  a 
life  as  one  of  the  neighboring  monks  of  St.  Mary's 
Priory. 

Crosbey  -  Holt,  their  new  home,  was  different 
enough  from  Fal worth  or  Easterbridge  Castle, 
the  former  baronial  seats  of  Lord  Falworth.  It 
was  a  long,  low,  straw-thatched  farm-house,  once, 
when  the  church  lands  were  divided  into  two 
holdings,  one  of  the  bailiff's  houses.  All  around 
were  the  fruitful  farms  of  the  priory,  tilled  by 
well-to-do  tenant  holders,  and  rich  with  fields  of 
waving  grain,  and  meadow-lands  where  sheep  and 


cattle  grazed  in  flocks  and  herds;  for  in  those 
days  the  church  lands  were  under  church  rule, 
and  were  governed  by  church  laws,  and  there, 
when  war  and  famine  and  waste  and  sloth  blight- 
ed the  outside  world,  harvests  flourished  and  were 
gathered,  and  sheep  were  sheared  and  cows  were 
milked  in  peace  and  quietness. 

The  Prior  of  St.  Mary's  owed  much  if  not  all 
of  the  church's  prosperity  to  the  blind  Lord  Fal- 
worth,  and  now  he  was  paying  it  back  with  a 
haven  of  refuge  from  the  ruin  that  his  former 
patron  had  brought  upon  himself  by  giving  shel- 
ter to  Sir  John  Dale. 

I  fancy  that  most  boys  do  not  love  the  grind- 
ing of  school  life  —  the  lessons  to  be  conned, 
the  close  application  during  study  hours.  It  is 
not  often  pleasant  to  brisk,  lively  lads  to  be  so 
cooped  up.  I  wonder  what  the  boys  of  to-day 
would  have  thought  of  Myles's  training.  With 
him  that  training  was  not  only  of  the  mind,  but 
of  the  body  as  well,  and  for  seven  years  it  was 
almost  unremitting.  "  Thou  hast  thine  own  way 
to  make  in  the  world,  sirrah,"  his  father  said 
more  than  once  when  the  boy  complained  of  the 
grinding  hardness  of  his  life,  and  to  make  one's 
way  in  those  days  meant  a  thousand  times  more 
than  it  does  now;  it  meant  not  only  a  heart  to 
feel  and  a  brain  to  think,  but  a  hand  quick  and 


strong  to  strike  in  battle,  and  a  body  tough  to 
endure  the  wounds  and  blows  in  return.  And  so 
it  was  that  Myles's  body  as  well  as  his  mind  had 
to  be  trained  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  dark  age 
in  which  he  lived. 

Every  morning,  winter  or  summer,  rain  or 
shine,  he  tramped  away  six  long  miles  to  the 
priory  school,  and  in  the  evenings  his  mother 
taught  him  French. 

Myles,  being  prejudiced  in  the  school  of 
thought  of  his  day,  rebelled  not  a  little  at  that 
last  branch  of  his  studies.  "  Why  must  I  learn 
that  vile  tongue  ?"  said  he. 

"  Call  it  not  vile,"  said  the  blind  old  Lord, 
grimly ;  "  belike,  when  thou  art  grown  a  man, 
thou'lt  have  to  seek  thy  fortune  in  France  land, 
for  England  is  haply  no  place  for  such  as  be  of 
Falworth  blood."  And  in  after-years,  true  to  his 
father's  prediction,  the  "  vile  tongue  "  served  him 
well. 

As  for  his  physical  training,  that  pretty  well 
filled  up  the  hours  between  his  morning  studies 
at  the  monastery  and  his  evening  studies  at  home. 
Then  it  was  that  old  Diccon  Bowman  took  him 
in  hand,  than  whom  none  could  be  better  fitted 
to  shape  his  young  body  to  strength  and  his 
hands  to  skill  in  arms.  The  old  bowman  had 
served  with   Lord  Falworth's  father   under  the 


Black  Prince  both  in  France  and  Spain,  and  in 
long  years  of  war  had  gained  a  practical  knowl- 
edge of  arms  that  few  could  surpass.  Besides 
the  use  of  the  broadsword,  the  short  sword,  the 
quarter-staff,  and  the  cudgel,  he  taught  Myles  to 
shoot  so  skilfully  with  the  long-bow  and  the 
cross-bow  that  not  a  lad  in  the  country-side  was 
his  match  at  the  village  butts.  Attack  and  de- 
fence with  the  lance,  and  throwing  the  knife  and 
dagger  were  also  part  of  his  training. 

Then,  in  addition  to  this  more  regular  part  of 
his  physical  training,  Myles  was  taught  in  an- 
other branch  not  so  often  included  in  the  mili- 
tary education  of  the  day — the  art  of  wrestling. 
It  happened  that  a  fellow  lived  in  Crosbey  vil- 
lage, by  name  Ralph -the -Smith,  who  was  the 
greatest  wrestler  in  the  country-side,  and  had 
worn  the  champion  belt  for  three  years.  Every 
Sunday  afternoon,  in  fair  weather,  he  came  to 
teach  Myles  the  art,  and  being  wonderfully  adept 
in  bodily  feats,  he  soon  grew  so  quick  and  active 
and  firm-footed  that  he  could  cast  any  lad  under 
twenty  years  of  age  living  within  a  range  of  five 
miles. 

"  It  is  main  ungentle  armscraft  that  he  learn- 
eth,"  said  Lord  Falworth  one  day  to  Prior  Ed- 
ward. "  Saving  only  the  broadsword,  the  dagger, 
and  the  lance,  there  is  but  little  that  a  gentleman 

13 


of  his  strain  may  use.  Neth'less,  he  gainetb 
quickness  and  suppleness,  and  if  he  hath  true 
blood  in  his  veins  he  will  acquire  knightly  arts 
shrewdly  quick  when  the  time  cometh  to  learn 
them." 

But  hard  and  grinding  as  Myles's  life  was,  it 
was  not  entirely  without  pleasures.  There  were 
many  boys  living  in  Crosbey-Dale  and  the  vil- 
lage ;  yeomen's  and  farmers'  sons,  to  be  sure,  but, 
nevertheless,  lads  of  his  own  age,  and  that,  after 
all,  is  the  main  requirement  for  friendship  in  boy- 
hood's world.  Then  there  was  the  river  to  bathe 
in ;  there  were  the  hills  and  valleys  to  roam  over, 
and  the  wold  and  woodland,  with  their  wealth  of 
nuts  and  birds'-nests  and  what  not  of  boyhood's 
treasures. 

Once  he  gained  a  triumph  that  for  many  a  day 
was  very  sweet  under  the  tongue  of  his  memory. 
As  was  said  before,  he  had  been  three  times  to 
the  market-town  at  fair- time,  and  upon  the  last  of 
these  occasions  he  had  fought  a  bout  of  quarter- 
staff  with  a  young  fellow  of  twenty,  and  had  been 
the  conqueror.  He  was  then  only  a  little  over 
fourteen  years  old. 

Old  Diccon,  who  had  gone  with  him  to  the 
fair,  had  met  some  cronies  of  his  own,  with  whom 
he  had  sat  gossiping  in  the  ale-booth,  leaving 
Myles  for  the  nonce  to  shift  for  himself.    By-and- 

14 


by  the  old  man  frad  noticed  a  crowd  gathered  at 
one  part  of  the  fair-ground,  and,  snuffing  a  fight, 
had  gone  running,  ale-pot  in  hand.  Then,  peer- 
ing over  the  shoulders  of  the  crowd,  he  had  seen 
his  young  master,  stripped  to  the  waist,  fighting 
like  a  gladiator  with  a  fellow  a  head  taller  than  him- 
self. Diccon  was  about  to  force  his  way  through 
the  crowd  and  drag  them  asunder,  but  a  second 
look  had  showed  his  practised  eye  that  Myles  was 
not  only  holding  his  own,  but  was  in  the  way  of 
winning  the  victory.  So  he  had  stood  with  the 
others  looking  on,  withholding  himself  from  any 
interference  and  whatever  upbraiding  might  be 
necessary  until  the  fight  had  been  brought  to  a 
triumphant  close.  Lord  Falworth  never  heard 
directly  of  the  redoubtable  affair,  but  old  Diccon 
was  not  so  silent  with  the  common  folk  of  Cros- 
bey-Dale,  and  so  no  doubt  the  father  had  some 
inkling  of  what  had  happened.  It  was  shortly 
after  this  notable  event  that  Myles  was  formally 
initiated  into  squirehood.  His  father  and  mother, 
as  was  the  custom,  stood  sponsors  for  him.  By 
them,  each  bearing  a  lighted  taper,  he  was  escort- 
ed to  the  altar.  It  was  at  St.  Mary's  Priory, 
and  Prior  Edward  blessed  the  sword  and  girded 
it  to  the  lad's  side.  No  one  was  present  but  the 
four,  and  when  the  good  Prior  had  given  the  bene- 
diction and  had  signed  the  cross  upon  his  fore- 


head,  Myles's  mother  stooped  and  kissed  his  brow 
just  where  the  priest's  finger  had  drawn  the  holy 
sign.  Her  eyes  brimmed  bright  with  tears  as  she 
did  so.  Poor  lady!  perhaps  she  only  then  and 
for  the  first  time  realized  how  big  her  fledgling 
was  growing  for  his  nest.  Henceforth  Myles  had 
the  right  to  wear  a  sword. 

Myles  had  ended  his  fifteenth  year.  He  was  a 
bonny  lad,  with  brown  face,  curling  hair,  a  square, 
strong  chin,  and  a  pair  of  merry  laughing  blue 
eyes;  his  shoulders  were  broad;  his  chest  was 
thick  of  girth ;  his  muscles  and  thews  were  as 
tough  as  oak. 

The  day  upon  which  he  was  sixteen  years  old, 
as  he  came  whistling  home  from  the  monastery 
school  he  was  met  by  Diccon  Bowman. 

"  Master  Myles,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  snuf- 
fle in  his  voice — "  Master  Myles,  thy  father  would 
see  thee  in  his  chamber,  and  bade  me  send  thee 
to  him  as  soon  as  thou  didst  come  home.  Oh, 
Master  Myles,  I  fear  me  that  belike  thou  art  going 
to  leave  home  to-morrow  day." 

Myles  stopped  short.  "  To  leave  home !"  he  cried. 

"  Aye,"  said  old  Diccon,  "  belike  thou  goest  to 
some  grand  castle  to  live  there,  and  be  a  page 
there  and  what  not,  and  then,  haply,  a  gentle- 
man-at-arms in  some  great  lord's  pay." 

16 


"  What  coil  is  this  about  castles  and  lords  and 
gentlemen-at-arms  ?"  said  Myles.  "  What  talkest 
thou  of,  Diccon  ?     Art  thou  jesting  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Diccon,  "  I  am  not  jesting.  But 
go  to  thy  father,  and  then  thou  wilt  presently 
know  all.  Only  this  I  do  say,  that  it  is  like  thou 
leavest  us  to-morrow  day." 

And  so  it  was  as  Diccon  had  said ;  Myles  was 
to  leave  home  the  very  next  morning.  He  found 
his  father  and  mother  and  Prior  Edward  togeth- 
er, waiting  for  his  coming. 

"  We  three  have  been  talking  it  over  this 
morning,"  said  his  father,  "  and  so  think  each 
one  that  the  time  hath  come  for  thee  to  quit 
this  poor  home  of  ours.  An  thou  stay  here 
ten  years  longer,  thou'lt  be  no  more  fit  to  go 
then  than  now.  To-morrow  I  will  give  thee  a 
letter  to  my  kinsman,  the  Earl  of  Mackworth. 
He  has  thriven  in  these  days  and  I  have  fallen 
away,  but  time  was  that  he  and  I  were  true 
sworn  companions,  and  plighted  together  in 
friendship  never  to  be  sundered.  Methinks,  as 
I  remember  him,  he  will  abide  by  his  plighted 
troth,  and  will  give  thee  his  aid  to  rise  in  the 
world.  So,  as  I  said,  to-morrow  morning  thou 
shalt  set  forth  with  Diccon  Bowman,  and  shall 
go  to  Castle  Devlen,  and  there  deliver  this  let- 
ter, which  prayeth  him  to  give  thee  a  place  in 
B  17. 


his  household.  Thou  mayst  have  this  afternoon 
to  thyself  to  make  ready  such  things  as  thou 
shalt  take  with  thee.  And  bid  me  Diccon  to  take 
the  gray  horse  to  the  village  and  have  it  shod." 

Prior  Edward  had  been  standing  looking  out 
of  the  window.  As  Lord  Falworth  ended  he 
turned. 

"  And,  Myles,"  said  he,  "  thou  wilt  need  some 
money,  so  I  will  give  thee  as  a  loan  forty  shil- 
lings, which  some  day  thou  mayst  return  to  me 
an  thou  wilt.  For  this  know,  Myles,  a  man  can- 
not do  in  the  world  without  money.  Thy  father 
hath  it  ready  for  thee  in  the  chest,  and  will  give 
it  thee  to-morrow  ere  thou  goest." 

Lord  Falworth  had  the  grim  strength  of  man- 
hood's hard  sense  to  upbear  him  in  sending  his 
son  into  the  world,  but  the  poor  lady  mother 
had  nothing  of  that  to  uphold  her.  No  doubt  it 
was  as  hard  then  as  it  is  now  for  the  mother  to 
see  the  nestling  thrust  from  the  nest  to  shift  for 
itself.  What  tears  were  shed,  what  words  of  love 
were  spoken  to  the  only  man-child,  none  but  the 
mother  and  the  son  ever  knew. 

The  next  morning  Myles  and  the  old  bowman 
rode  away,  and  no  doubt  to  the  boy  himself  the 
dark  shadows  of  leave-taking  were  lost  in  the 
golden  light  of  hope  as  he  rode  out  into  the 
great  world  to  seek  his  fortune. 

18 


CHAPTER  IIL 

What  Myles  remembered  of  Falworth  loomed 
great  and  grand  and  big,  as  things  do  in  the 
memory  of  childhood,  but  even  memory  could 
not  make  Falworth  the  equal  of  Devlen  Castle, 
when,  as  he  and  Diccon  Bowman  rode  out  of 
Devlen-town  across  the  great,  rude  stone  bridge 
that  spanned  the  river,  he  first  saw,  rising  above 
the  crowns  of  the  trees,  those  huge  hoary  walls, 
and  the  steep  roofs  and  chimneys  clustered  thick- 
ly together,  like  the  roofs  and  chimneys  of  a 
town. 

The  castle  was  built  upon  a  plateau- like  rise 
of  ground,  which  was  enclosed  by  the  outer  wall. 
It  was  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  a  loop-like 
bend  of  the  river,  and  on  the  fourth  was  pro- 
tected by  a  deep,  broad,  artificial  moat,  almost  as 
wide  as  the  stream  from  which  it  was  fed.  The 
road  from  the  town  wound  for  a  little  distance 
along  by  the  edge  of  this  moat.  As  Myles  and 
the  old  bowman  galloped  by,  with  the  answering 

19 


echo  of  their  horses'  hoof-beats  rattling  back  from 
the  smooth  stone  face  of  the  walls,  the  lad 
looked  up,  wondering  at  the  height  and  strength 
of  the  great  ancient  fortress.  In  his  air-castle 
building  Myles  had  pictured  the  Earl  receiving 
him  as  the  son  of  his  one-time  comrade  in  arms 
— receiving  him,  perhaps,  with  somewhat  of  the 
rustic  warmth  that  he  knew  at  Crosbey-Dale; 
but  now,  as  he  stared  at  those  massive  walls 
from  below,  and  realized  his  own  insignificance 
and  the  greatness  of  this  great  Earl,  he  felt  the 
first  keen,  helpless  ache  of  homesickness  shoot 
through  his  breast,  and  his  heart  yearned  for 
Crosbey-Holt  again. 

Then  they  thundered  across  the  bridge  that 
spanned  the  moat,  and  through  the  dark  shad- 
ows of  the  great  gaping  gate-way,  and  Diccon, 
bidding  him  stay  for  a  moment,  rode  forward  to 
bespeak  the  gate-keeper. 

The  gate-keeper  gave  the  two  in  charge  of  one 
of  the  men-at-arms  who  were  lounging  upon  a 
bench  in  the  archway,  who  in  turn  gave  them 
into  the  care  of  one  of  the  house-servants  in 
the  outer  court -yard.  So,  having  been  passed 
from  one  to  another,  and  having  answered  many 
questions,  Myles  in  due  time  found  himself  in 
the  outer  waiting-room  sitting  beside  Diccon 
Bowman  upon  a  wooden  bench  that  stood  along 


the  wall  under  the  great  arch  of  a  glazed  win- 
dow. 

For  a  while  the  poor  country  lad  sat  stupidly 
bewildered.  He  was  aware  of  people  coming  and 
going ;  he  was  aware  of  talk  and  laughter  sound- 
ing around  him ;  but  he  thought  of  nothing  but 
his  aching  homesickness  and  the  oppression  of 
his  utter  littleness  in  the  busy  life  of  this  great 
castle. 

Meantime  old  Diccon  Bowman  was  staring 
about  him  with  huge  interest,  every  now  and 
then  nudging  his  young  master,  calling  his  atten- 
tion now  to  this  and  now  to  that,  until  at  last 
the  lad  began  to  awaken  somewhat  from  his  de- 
spondency to  the  things  around.  Besides  those 
servants  and  others  who  came  and  went,  and  a 
knot  of  six  or  eight  men-at-arms  with  bills  and 
pole-axes,  who  stood  at  the  farther  door-way  talk- 
ing together  in  low  tones,  now  and  then  broken 
by  a  stifled  laugh,  was  a  group  of  four  young 
squires,  who  lounged  upon  a  bench  beside  a 
door  way  hidden  by  an  arras,  and  upon  them 
Myles's  eyes  lit  with  a  sudden  interest.  Three 
of  the  four  were  about  his  own  age,  one  was  a 
year  or  two  older,  and  all  four  were  dressed  in 
the  black- and-yellow  uniform  of  the  house  of 
Beaumont. 

Myles  plucked  the  bowman  by  the  sleeve.   "  Be 


they  squires,  Diccon  ?"  said  he,  nodding  towards 
the  door. 

"Eh?"  said  Diccon.     "Aye;  they  be  squires." 

"  And  will  my  station  be  with  them  ?"  asked 
the  boy. 

"  Aye  ;  an  the  Earl  take  thee  to  service,  thou'lt 
haply  be  taken  as  squire." 

Myles  stared  at  them,  and  then  of  a  sudden 
was  aware  that  the  young  men  were  talking  of 
him.  He  knew  it  by  the  way  they  eyed  him 
askance,  and  spoke  now  and  then  in  one  an- 
other's ears.  One  of  the  four,  a  gay  young  fel- 
low, with  long  riding-boots  laced  with  green  laces, 
said  a  few  words,  the  others  gave  a  laugh,  and 
poor  Myles,  knowing  how  ungainly  he  must  seem 
to  them,  felt  the  blood  rush  to  his  cheeks,  and 
shyly  turned  his  head. 

Suddenly,  as  though  stirred  by  an  impulse,  the 
same  lad  who  had  just  created  the  laugh  arose 
from  the  bench,  and  came  directly  across  the 
room  to  where  Myles  and  the  bowman  sat. 

"  Give  thee  good-den,"  said  he.  "  What  be'st 
thy  name  and  whence  comest  thou,  an  I  may 
make  bold  so  to  ask?" 

"  My  name  is  Myles  Falworth,"  said  Myles ; 
"and  I  come  from  Crosbey-Dale  bearing  a  let- 
ter to  my  Lord." 

"Never  did  I  hear  of  Crosbey-Dale,"  said  the 


squire.  "  But  what  seekest  here,  if  so  be  I  may 
ask  that  much  ?" 

"  I  come  seeking  service,"  said  Myles,  "  and 
would  enter  as  an  esquire  such  as  ye  be  in  my 
Lord's  household." 

Myles's  new  acquaintance  grinned.  "  Thou'lt 
make  a  droll  squire  to  wait  in  a  Lord's  house- 
hold," said  he.  "  Hast  ever  been  in  such  serv- 
ice?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  "  I  have  only  been  at  school, 
and  learned  Latin  and  French  and  what  not. 
But  Diccon  Bowman  here  hath  taught  me  use 
of  arms." 

The  young  squire  laughed  outright.  "  By  'r 
Lady,  thy  talk  doth  tickle  me,  friend  Myles,"  said 
he.  "  Think'st  thou  such  matters  will  gain  thee 
footing  here  ?  But  stay !  Thou  didst  say  anon 
that  thou  hadst  a  letter  to  my  Lord.  From  whom 
is  it  ?" 

"  It  is  from  my  father,"  said  Myles.  "  He  is  of 
noble  blood,  but  fallen  in  estate.  He  is  a  kins- 
man of  my  Lord's,  and  one  time  his  comrade  in 
arms." 

"  Sayst  so  ?"  said  the  other.  "  Then  mayhap 
thy  chances  are  not  so  ill,  after  all."  Then,  after 
a  moment,  he  added :  "  My  name  is  Francis  Gas- 
coyne,  and  I  will  stand  thy  friend  in  this  matter. 
Get  thy  letter  ready,  for  my  Lord  and  his  Grace 

-      .33 


of  York  are  within.,  and  come  forth  anon.  The 
Archbishop  is  on  his  way  to  Dalworth,  and  my 
Lord  escorts  him  so  far  as  Uppingham.  I  and 
those  others  are  to  go  along.  Dost  thou  know 
my  Lord  by  sight  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles, "  I  know  him  not." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  thee  when  he  cometh.  List- 
en I"  said  he,  as  a  confused  clattering  sounded 
in  the  court -yard  without.  "Yonder  are  the 
horses  now.  They  come  presently.  Busk  thee 
with  thy  letter,  friend  Myles." 

The  attendants  who  passed  through  the  ante- 
room now  came  and  went  more  hurriedly,  and 
Myles  knew  that  the  Earl  must  be  about  to  come 
forth.  He  had  hardly  time  to  untie  his  pouch, 
take  out  the  letter,  and  tie  the  strings  again  when 
the  arras  at  the  door-way  was  thrust  suddenly 
aside,  and  a  tall  thin  squire  of  about  twenty  came 
forth,  said  some  words  to  the  young  men  upon 
the  bench,  and  then  withdrew  again.  Instantly 
the  squires  arose  and  took  their  station  beside 
the  door-way.  A  sudden  hush  fell  upon  all  in 
the  room,  and  the  men-at-arms  stood  in  a  line 
against  the  wall,  stiff  and  erect  as  though  all  at 
once  transformed  to  figures  of  iron.  Once  more 
the  arras  was  drawn  back,  and  in  the  hush  Myles 
heard  voices  in  the  other  room. 

"  My  Lord  cometh,"  whispered  Gascoyne  in 

34 


his  ear,  and   Myles   felt   his    heart  leap  in   an- 
swer. 

The  next  moment  two  noblemen  came  into 
the  anteroom,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  gentlemen, 
squires,  and  pages.  One  of  the  two  was  a  dig- 
nitary of  the  Church ;  the  other  Myles  instantly 
singled  out  as  the  Earl  of  Mackworth. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

He  was  a  tall  man,  taller  even  than  Myles's 
father.  He  had  a  thin  face,  deep-set  bushy  eye- 
brows, and  a  hawk  nose.  His  upper  lip  was  clean 
shaven,  but  from  his  chin  a  flowing  beard  of  iron- 
gray  hung  nearly  to  his  waist.  He  was  clad  in 
a  riding- gown  of  black  velvet  that  hung  a  little 
lower  than  the  knee,  trimmed  with  otter  fur  and 
embroidered  with  silver  goshawks — the  crest  of 
the  family  of  Beaumont. 

A  light  shirt  of  link  mail  showed  beneath  the 
gown  as  he  walked,  and  a  pair  of  soft  undressed 
leather  riding- boots  were  laced  as  high  as  the 
knee,  protecting  his  scarlet  hose  from  mud  and 
dirt.  Over  his  shoulders  he  wore  a  collar  of 
enamelled  gold,  from  which  hung  a  magnificent 
jewelled  pendant,  and  upon  his  fist  he  carried  a 
beautiful  Iceland  falcon. 

As   Myles    stood   staring,  he   suddenly  heard 

Gascoyne's  voice  whisper  in  his  ear, "  Yon  is  my 

Lord ;  go  forward  and  give  him  thy  letter." 

26 


Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he  walked  tow- 
ards the  Earl  like  a  machine,  his  heart  pounding 
within  him  and  a  great  humming  in  his  ears. 
As  he  drew  near,  the  nobleman  stopped  for  a 
moment  and  stared  at  him,  and  Myles,  as  in  a 
dream,  kneeled,  and  presented  the  letter.  The 
Earl  took  it  in  his  hand,  turned  it  this  way  and 
that,  looked  first  at  the  bearer,  then  at  the  pack- 
et, and  then  at  the  bearer  again. 

"  Who  art  thou  ?"  said  he ;  "  and  what  is  the 
matter  thou  wouldst  have  of  me  ?" 

"  I  am  Myles  Falworth,"  said  the  lad,  in  a  low 
voice ;  "  and  I  come  seeking  service  with  you." 

The  Earl  drew  his  thick  eyebrows  quickly  to- 
gether, and  shot  a  keen  look  at  the  lad.  "  Fal- 
worth ?"  said  he,  sharply — "  Falworth  ?  I  know 
no  Falworth !" 

"  The  letter  will  tell  you,"  said  Myles.  *  It  is 
from  one  once  dear  to  you." 

The  Earl  took  the  letter,  and  handing  it  to  a 
gentleman  who  stood  near,  bade  him  break  the 
seal.  "  Thou  mayst  stand,"  said  he  to  Myles ; 
"  needst  not  kneel  there  forever."  Then,  taking 
the  opened  parchment  again,  he  glanced  first  at 
the  face  and  then  at  the  back,  and,  seeing  its 
length,  looked  vexed.  Then  he  read  for  an  ear- 
nest moment  or  two,  skipping  from  line  to  line. 
Presently  he  folded  the  letter  and  thrust  it  into 

27 


the  pouch  at  his  side.  "  So  it  is,  your  Grace," 
said  he  to  the  lordly  prelate,  "  that  we  who  have 
luck  to  rise  in  the  world  must  ever  suffer  by  be- 
ing plagued  at  all  times  and  seasons.  Here  is 
one  I  chanced  to  know  a  dozen  years  ago,  who 
thinks  he  hath  a  claim  upon  me,  and  saddles  me 
with  his  son.  I  must  e'en  take  the  lad,  too,  for 
the  sake  of  peace  and  quietness."  He  glanced 
around,  and  seeing  Gascoyne,  who  had  drawn 
near,  beckoned  to  him.  "  Take  me  this  fellow," 
said  he,  "  to  the  buttery,  and  see  him  fed  ;  and 
then  to  Sir  James  Lee,  and  have  his  name  en- 
tered in  the  castle  books.  And  stay,  sirrah,"  he 
added ;  "  bid  me  Sir  James,  if  it  may  be  so  done, 
to  enter  him  as  a  squire-at-arms.  Methinks  he 
will  be  better  serving  so  than  in  the  household, 
for  he  appeareth  a  soothly  rough  cub  for  a 
page." 

Myles  did  look  rustic  enough,  standing  clad 
in  frieze  in  the  midst  of  that  gay  company,  and 
a  murmur  of  laughter  sounded  around,  though 
he  was  too  bewildered  to  fully  understand  that 
he  was  the  cause  of  the  merriment.  Then  some 
hand  drew  him  back — it  was  Gascoyne's — there 
was  a  bustle  of  people  passing,  and  the  next  min- 
ute they  were  gone,  and  Myles  and  old  Diccon 
Bowman  and  the  young  squire  were  left  alone  in 
the  anteroom. 

28 


Myles,  as  in  a  dream,  kneeled  and  presented  the  letter" 


Gascoyne  looked  very  sour  and  put  out.  "  Mur- 
rain upon  it!"  said  he;  "here  is  good  sport  spoiled 
for  me  to  see  thee  fed.  I  wish  no  ill  to  thee, 
friend,  but  I  would  thou  hadst  come  this  after- 
noon or  to-morrow." 

"  Methinks  I  bring  trouble  and  dole  to  every 
one,"  said  Myles,  somewhat  bitterly.  "  It  would 
have  been  better  had  I  never  come  to  this  place, 
methinks." 

His  words  and  tone  softened  Gascoyne  a  little. 
"Ne'er  mind,"  said  the  squire;  "it  was  not  thy 
fault,  and  is  past  mending  now.  So  come  and 
fill  thy  stomach,  in  Heaven's  name." 

Perhaps  not  the  least  hard  part  of  the  whole 
trying  day  for  Myles  was  his  parting  with  Die- 
con.  Gascoyne  and  he  had  accompanied  the  old 
retainer  to  the  outer  gate,  in  the  archway  of  which 
they  now  stood;  for  without  a  permit  they  could 
go  no  farther.  The  old  bowman  led  by  the  bri- 
dle-rein the  horse  upon  which  Myles  had  ridden 
that  morning.  His  own  nag,  a  vicious  brute,  was 
restive  to  be  gone,  but  Diccon  held  him  in  with 
tight  rein.  He  reached  down,  and  took  Myles's 
sturdy  brown  hand  in  his  crooked,  knotted  grasp. 

"  Farewell,  young  master,"  he  croaked,  tremu- 
lously, with  a  watery  glimmer  in  his  pale  eyes. 

"Thou  wilt  not  forget  me  when  I  am  gone?" 

29 


"  Nay,"  said  Myles ;  "  I  will  not  forget  thee." 
"  Aye,  aye,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  down  at 
him,  and  shaking  his  head  slowly  from  side  to 
side;  "  thou  art  a  great  tall  sturdy  fellow  now,  yet 
have  I  held  thee  on  my  knee  many  and  many's 
the  time,  and  dandled  thee  when  thou  wert  only  a 
little  weeny  babe.  Be  still,  thou  devil's  limb  !"  he 
suddenly  broke  off,  reining  back  his  restive  raw- 
boned  steed,  which  began  again  to  caper  and 
prance.  Myles  was  not  sorry  for  the  interrup- 
tion ;  he  felt  awkward  and  abashed  at  the  parting, 
and  at  the  old  man's  reminiscences,  knowing  that 
Gascoyne's  eyes  were  resting  amusedly  upon  the 
scene,  and  that  the  men-at-arms  were  looking  on. 
Certainly  old  Diccon  did  look  droll  as  he  strug- 
gled vainly  with  his  vicious  high-necked  nag. 
"  Nay,  a  murrain  on  thee !  an'  thou  wilt  go,  go  !" 
cried  he  at  last,  with  a  savage  dig  of  his  heels  into 
the  animal's  ribs,  and  away  they  clattered,  the  led- 
horse  kicking  up  its  heels  as  a  final  parting,  set- 
ting Gascoyne  fairly  alaughing.  At  the  bend  of 
the  road  the  old  man  turned  and  nodded  his  head ; 
the  next  moment  he  had  disappeared  around  the 
angle  of  the  wall,  and  it  seemed  to  Myles,  as  he 
stood  looking  after  him,  as  though  the  last  thread 
that  bound  him  to  his  old  life  had  snapped  and 
broken.    As  he  turned  he  saw  that  Gascoyne  was 


looking  at  him. 


30 


■  Dost  feel  downhearted  ?"  said  the  young 
squire,  curiously. 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  brusquely.  Nevertheless 
his  throat  was  tight  and  dry,  and  the  word  came 
huskily  in  spite  of  himself. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Earl  of  Mackworth,  as  was  customary 
among  the  great  lords  in  those  days,  maintained 
a  small  army  of  knights,  gentlemen,  men-at-arms, 
and  retainers,  who  were  expected  to  serve  him 
upon  all  occasions  of  need,  and  from  whom  were 
supplied  his  quota  of  recruits  to  fill  such  levies  as 
might  be  made  upon  him  by  the  King  in  time  of 
war. 

The  knights  and  gentlemen  of  this  little  army 
of  horse  and  foot  soldiers  were  largely  recruited 
from  the  company  of  squires  and  bachelors,  as 
the  young  novitiate  soldiers  of  the  castle  were 
called. 

This  company  of  esquires  consisted  of  from 
eighty  to  ninety  lads,  ranging  in  age  from  eight 
to  twenty  years.  Those  under  fourteen  years 
were  termed  pages,  and  served  chiefly  the  Count- 
ess and  her  waiting  gentlewomen,  in  whose  com- 
pany they  acquired  the  graces  and  polish  of  the 
times,  such  as  they  were.    After  reaching  the  age 

32 


of  fourteen  the  lads  were  entitled  to  the  name  of 
esquire  or  squire. 

In  most  of  the  great  houses  of  the  time  the 
esquires  were  the  especial  attendants  upon  the( 
Lord  and  Lady  of  the  house,  holding  such  posi- 
tions as  body- squires,  cup-bearers,  carvers,  and 
sometimes  the  office  of  chamberlain.  But  Dev- 
len,  like  some  other  of  the  princely  castles  of  the 
greatest  nobles,  was  more  like  a  military  post  or 
a  fortress  than  an  ordinary  household.  Only 
comparatively  few  of  the  esquires  could  be  used 
in  personal  attendance  upon  the  Earl ;  the  others 
were  trained  more  strictly  in  arms,  and  served 
rather  in  the  capacity  of  a  sort  of  body-guard 
than  as  ordinary  squires.  For,  as  the  Earl  rose 
in  power  and  influence,  and  as  it  so  became  well 
worth  while  for  the  lower  nobility  and  gentry 
to  enter  their  sons  in  his  family,  the  body  of 
squires  became  almost  cumbersomely  large.  Ac- 
cordingly, that  part  which  comprised  the  squires 
proper,  as  separate  from  the  younger  pages,  was 
divided  into  three  classes — first,  squires  of  the 
body,  who  were  those  just  past  pagehood,  and 
who  waited  upon  the  Earl  in  personal  service ; 
second,  squires  of  the  household,  who,  having  reg- 
ular hours  assigned  for  exercise  in  the  manual  of 
arms,  were  relieved  from  personal  service  except- 
ing upon  especial  occasions ;  and  thirdly  and  last- 

c  33 


ly,  at  the  head  of  the  whole  body  of  lads,  a  class1 
called  bachelors — young  men  ranging  from  eigh- 
teen to  twenty  years  of  age.  This  class  was  sup- 
posed to  exercise  a  sort  of  government  over  the 
other  and  younger  squires — to  keep  them  in  order 
as  much  as  possible,  to  marshal  them  upon  occa- 
sions of  importance,  to  see  that  their  arms  and 
equipments  were  kept  in  good  order,  to  call  the 
roll  for  chapel  in  the  morning,  and  to  see  that 
those  not  upon  duty  in  the  house  were  present  at 
the  daily  exercise  at  arms.  Orders  to  the  squires 
were  generally  transmitted  through  the  bachelors, 
and  the  head  of  that  body  was  expected  to  make 
weekly  reports  of  affairs  in  their  quarters  to  the 
chief  captain  of  the  body. 

From  this  overlordship  of  the  bachelors  there 
had  gradually  risen  a  system  of  fagging,  such  as 
is  or  was  practised  in  the  great  English  public 
schools  —  enforced  services  exacted  from  the 
younger  lads — which  at  the  time  Myles  came  to 
Devlen  had,  in  the  five  or  six  years  it  had  been 
in  practice,  grown  to  be  an  absolute  though  un- 
written law  of  the  body — a  law  supported  by  all 
the  prestige  of  long-continued  usage.  At  that 
time  the  bachelors  numbered  but  thirteen,  yet 
they  exercised  over  the  rest  of  the  sixty-four 
squires  and  pages  a  rule  of  iron,  and  were  task- 
masters, hard,  exacting,  and  oftentimes  cruel. 

34 


The  whole  company  of  squires  and  pages  was 
under  the  supreme  command  of  a  certain  one- 
eyed  knight,  by  name  Sir  James  Lee ;  a  soldier 
seasoned  by  the  fire  of  a  dozen  battles,  bearing  a 
score  of  wounds  won  in  fight  and  tourney,  and 
withered  by  hardship  and  labor  to  a  leather-like 
toughness.  He  had  fought  upon  the  King's  side 
in  all  the  late  wars,  and  had  at  Shrewsbury  re- 
ceived a  wound  that  unfitted  him  for  active  serv- 
ice, so  that  now  he  was  fallen  to  the  post  of 
Captain  of  Esquires  at  Devlen  Castle  —  a  man 
disappointed  in  life,  and  with  a  temper  imbittered 
by  that  failure  as  well  as  by  cankering  pain. 

Yet  perhaps  no  one  could  have  been  better 
fitted  for  the  place  he  held  than  Sir  James  Lee. 
The  lads  under  his  charge  were  a  rude,  rough,  un- 
ruly set,  quick,  like  their  elders,  to  quarrel,  and 
to  quarrel  fiercely,  even  to  the  drawing  of  sword 
or  dagger.  But  there  was  a  cold,  iron  sternness 
about  the  grim  old  man  that  quelled  them,  as  the 
trainer  with  a  lash  of  steel  might  quell  a  den  of 
young  wolves.  The  apartments  in  which  he  was 
lodged,  with  his  clerk,  were  next  the  dormitory  of 
the  lads,  and  even  in  the  midst  of  the  most  excited 
brawlings  the  distant  sound  of  his  harsh  voice, 
"  Silence,  messieurs!"  would  bring  an  instant  hush 
to  the  loudest  uproar. 

It  was  into  his  grim  presence  that  Myles  was 

.    35 


introduced  by  Gascoyne.  Sir  James  was  in  his 
office,  a  room  bare  of  ornament  or  adornment  or 
superfluous  comfort  of  any  sort — without  even  so 
much  as  a  mat  of  rushes  upon  the  cold  stone 
pavement  to  make  it  less  cheerless.  The  old  one. 
eyed  knight  sat  gnawing  his  bristling  mustaches, 
To  any  one  who  knew  him  it  would  have  been 
apparent  that,  as  the  castle  phrase  went,  "  the  devil 
sat  astride  of  his  neck,"  which  meant  that  some 
one  of  his  blind  wounds  was  aching  more  sorely 
than  usual. 

His  clerk  sat  beside  him,  with  account-books 
and  parchment  spread  upon  the  table,  and  the 
head  squire,  Walter  Blunt,  a  lad  some  three  01 
four  years  older  than  Myles,  and  half  a  head  taller, 
black -browed,  powerfully  built,  and  with  cheek 
and  chin  darkened  by  the  soft  budding  of  his 
adolescent  beard,  stood  making  his  report. 

Sir  James  listened  in  grim  silence  while  Gas- 
coyne told  his  errand. 

"  So,  then,  pardee,  I  am  bid  to  take  another  one 
of  ye,  am  I  ?"  he  snarled.  "  As  though  ye  caused 
me  not  trouble  enow ;  and  this  one  a  cub,  looking 
a  very  boor  in  carriage  and  breeding.  Mayhap 
the  Earl  thinketh  I  am  to  train  boys  to  his  dilly- 
dally household  service  as  well  as  to  use  of  arms." 

"  Sir,"  said  Gascoyne,  timidly,  "my  Lord  sayeth 
he  would  have  this  one  entered  direct  as  a  squire 

36 


of  the  body,  so  that  he  need  not  serve  in  the 
household." 

"  Sayest  so  ?"  cried  Sir  James,  harshly.  "  Then 
take  thou  my  message  back  again  to  thy  Lord. 
Not  for  Mackworth — no,  nor  a  better  man  than 
he — will  I  make  any  changes  in  my  government. 
An  I  be  set  to  rule  a  pack  of  boys,  I  will  rule 
them  as  I  list,  and  not  according  to  any  man's 
bidding.  Tell  him,  sirrah,  that  I  will  enter  no 
lad  as  squire  of  the  body  without  first  testing  an 
he  be  fit  at  arms  to  hold  that  place."  He  sat  for 
a  while  glowering  at  Myles  and  gnawing  his  mus- 
taches, and  for  the  time  no  one  dared  to  break 
the  grim  silence.  "  What  is  thy  name  ?"  said  he, 
suddenly.  And  then,  almost  before  Myles  could 
answer,  he  asked  the  head  squire  whether  he  could 
find  a  place  to  lodge  him. 

"  There  is  Gillis  Whitlock's  cot  empty,"  said 
Blunt.  "  He  is  in  the  infirmary,  and  belike  goeth 
home  again  when  he  cometh  thence.  The  fever 
hath  gotten  into  his  bones,  and — " 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  knight,  interrupting 
him  impatiently.  "  Let  him  take  that  place,  or  any 
other  that  thou  hast.  And  thou,  Jerome,"  said 
he  to  his  clerk,  "  thou  mayst  enter  him  upon  the 
roll,  though  whether  it  be  as  page  or  squire  or 
bachelor  shall  be  as  I  please,  and  not  as  Mack- 
worth  biddeth  me.     Now  get  ye  gone." 

A7 


"  Old  Bruin's  wound  smarteth  him  sore,"  Gas. 
coyne  observed,  as  the  two  lads  walked  across  the 
armory  court.  He  had  good-naturedly  offered  to 
show  the  new-comer  the  many  sights  of  interest 
around  the  castle,  and  in  the  hour  or  so  of  ram- 
ble that  followed,  the  two  grew  from  acquaint- 
ances to  friends  with  a  quickness  that  boyhood 
alone  can  bring  about.  They  visited  the  armory, 
the  chapel,  the  stables,  the  great  hall,  the  Painted 
Chamber,  the  guard-house,  the  mess-room,  and 
even  the  scullery  and  the  kitchen,  with  its  great 
range  of  boilers  and  furnaces  and  ovens.  Last  oi 
all  Myles's  new  friend  introduced  him  to  the 
armor -smithy. 

"  My  Lord  hath  sent  a  piece  of  Milan  armor 
thither  to  be  repaired,"  said  he.  "  Belike  thou 
would  like  to  see  it." 

"  Aye,"  said  Myles,  eagerly,  "  that  would  I." 

The  smith  was  a  gruff,  good-natured  fellow, 
and  showed  the  piece  of  armor  to  Myles  readily 
and  willingly  enough.  It  was  a  beautiful  basci- 
net  of  inlaid  workmanship,  and  was  edged  with 
a  rim  of  gold.  Myles  scarcely  dared  touch  it; 
he  gazed  at  it  with  an  unconcealed  delight  that 
warmed  the  smith's  honest  heart. 

"  I  have  another  piece  of  Milan  here,"  said  he. 
"  Did  I  ever  show  thee  my  dagger,  Master  Gas- 
coy  ne  ?" 

38 


"  Nay,"  said  the  squire. 

The  smith  unlocked  a  great  oaken  chest  in 
the  corner  of  the  shop,  lifted  the  lid,  and  brought 
thence  a  beautiful  dagger  with  a  handle  of  ebony 
and  silver-gilt,  and  a  sheath  of  Spanish  leather, 
embossed  and  gilt.  The  keen,  well- tempered 
blade  was  beautifully  engraved  and  inlaid  with 
niello-work,  representing  a  group  of  figures  in  a 
then  popular  subject — the  dance  of  Death.  It 
was  a  weapon  at  once  unique  and  beautiful,  and 
even  Gascoyne  showed  an  admiration  scarcely 
less  keen  than  Myles's  openly-expressed  delight. 

"To  whom  doth  it  belong?"  said  he,  trying 
the  point  upon  his  thumb  nail. 

"  There,"  said  the  smith,  "  is  the  jest  of  the 
whole,  for  it  belongeth  to  me.  Sir  William  Beau- 
clerk  bade  me  order  the  weapon  through  Master 
Gildersworthy,  of  London  town,  and  by  the  time 
it  came  hither,  lo !  he  had  died,  and  so  it  fell  to 
my  hands.  No  one  here  payeth  the  price  for 
the  trinket,  and  so  I  must  e'en  keep  it  myself, 
though  I  be  but  a  poor  man." 

"  How  much  dost  thou  hold  it  for?"  said  Gas- 
coyne 

"  Seventeen  shillings  buyeth  it,"  said  the  ar- 
morer, carelessly. 

"  Aye,  aye,"  said  Gascoyne,  with  a  sigh ;  "  so  it 
is  to  be  poor,  and  not  be  able  to  have  such  things 

39 


as  one  loveth  and  would  fain  possess.  Seven- 
teen shillings  is  nigh  as  much  by  half  again  as 
all  my  yearly  wage." 

Then  a  sudden  thought  came  to  Myles,  and 
as  it  came  his  cheeks  glowed  as  hot  as  fire. 
"  Master  Gascoyne,"  said  he,  with  gruff  awkward 
ness,  "thou  hast  been  a  very  good,  true  friend 
to  me  since  I  have  come  to  this  place,  and  hast 
befriended  me  in  all  ways  thou  mightest  do,  and 
I,  as  well  I  know,  but  a  poor  rustic  clod.  Now 
I  have  forty  shillings  by  me  which  I  may  spend 
as  I  list,  and  so  I  do  beseech  thee  that  thou  wilt 
take  yon  dagger  of  me  as  a  love -gift,  and  have 
and  hold  it  for  thy  very  own." 

Gascoyne  stared  open  •  mouthed  at  Myles. 
"  Dost  mean  it  ?"  said  he,  at  last. 

"  Aye,"  said  Myles,  "  I  do  mean  it.  Master 
Smith,  give  him  the  blade." 

At  first  the  smith  grinned,  thinking  it  all  a 
jest;  but  he  soon  saw  that  Myles  was  serious 
enough,  and  when  the  seventeen  shillings  were 
produced  and  counted  down  upon  the  anvil,  he 
took  off  his  cap  and  made  Myles  a  low  bow  as 
he  swept  them  into  his  pouch.  "  Now,  by  my 
faith  and  troth,"  quoth  he,  "  that  I  do  call  a  true 
lordly  gift.     Is  it  not  so,  Master  Gascoyne  ?" 

"  Aye,"  said  Gascoyne,  with  a  gulp,  "  it  is,  in 

soothly   earnest."      And   thereupon,  to    Myles's 

40 


great  wonderment,  he  suddenly  flung  his  arms 
about  his  neck,  and,  giving  him  a  great  hug,  kiss- 
ed him  upon  the  cheek.  "  Dear  Myles,"  said  he, 
"  I  tell  thee  truly  and  of  a  verity  I  did  feel  warm 
towards  thee  from  the  very  first  time  I  saw  thee 
sitting  like  a  poor  oaf  upon  the  bench  up  yonder 
in  the  anteroom,  and  now  of  a  sooth  I  give  thee 
assurance  that  I  do  love  thee  as  my  own  brother. 
Yea,  I  will  take  the  dagger,  and  will  stand  by  thee 
as  a  true  friend  from  this  time  forth.  Mayhap 
thou  mayst  need  a  true  friend  in  this  place  ere 
thou  livest  long  with  us,  for  some  of  us  esquires 
be  soothly  rough,  and  knocks  are  more  plenty 
here  than  broad  pennies,  so  that  one  new  come  is 
like  to  have  a  hard  time  gaining  a  footing." 

"  I  thank  thee,"  said  Myles,  "  for  thy  offer  of 
love  and  friendship,  and  do  tell  thee,  upon  my 
part,  that  I  also  of  all  the  world  would  like  best 
to  have  thee  for  my  friend." 

Such  was  the  manner  in  which  Myles  formed 
the  first  great  friendship  of  his  life,  a  friendship 
that  was  destined  to  last  him  through  many 
years  to  come.  As  the  two  walked  back  across 
the  great  quadrangle,  upon  which  fronted  the 
main  buildings  of  the  castle,  their  arms  were 
wound  across  one  another's  shoulders,  after  the 
manner,  as  a  certain  great  writer  says,  of  boys 
and  lovers. 

41 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  boy's  life  is  of  a  very  flexible  sort.  It  takes 
but  a  little  while  for  it  to  shape  itself  to  any  new 
surroundings  in  which  it  may  be  thrown,  to  make 
itself  new  friends,  to  settle  itself  to  new  habits ; 
and  so  it  was  that  Myles  fell  directly  into  the 
ways  of  the  lads  of  Devlen.  On  his  first  morning, 
as  he  washed  his  face  and  hands  with  the  other 
squires  and  pages  in  a  great  tank  of  water  in  the 
armory  court -yard,  he  presently  found  himself 
splashing  and  dashing  with  the  others,  laughing 
and  shouting  as  loud  as  any,  and  calling  some  by 
their  Christian  names  as  though  he  had  known 
them  for  years  instead  of  overnight.  During 
chapel  he  watched  with  sympathetic  delight  the 
covert  pranks  of  the  youngsters  during  the  half- 
hour  that  Father  Emmanuel  droned  his  Latin,  and 
with  his  dagger  point  he  carved  his  own  name 
among  the  many  cut  deep  into  the  back  of  the 
bench  before  him.  When,  after  breakfast,  the; 
squires  poured  like  school -boys  into  the  great 

42 


armory  to  answer  to  the  roll-call  for  daily  exer- 
cise, he  came  storming  in  with  the  rest,  beating 
the  lad  in  front  of  him  with  his  cap. 

Boys  are  very  keen  to  feel  the  influence  of  a 
forceful  character.  A  lad  with  a  strong  will  is 
quick  to  reach  his  proper  level  as  a  greater  or 
lesser  leader  among  the  others,  and  Myles  was  of 
just  the  masterful  nature  to  make  his  individuali- 
ty felt  among  the  Devlen  squires.  ..  He  was  quick 
enough  to  yield  obedience  upon  all  occasions  to 
proper  authority,  but  would  never  bend  an  inch  to 
the  usurpation  of  tyranny.  In  the  school  at  St. 
Mary's  Priory  at  Crosbey-Dale  he  would  submit 
without  a  murmur  or  offer  of  resistance  to  chas- 
tisement by  old  Father  Ambrose,  the  regular 
teacher ;  but  once,  when  the  fat  old  monk  was  sick, 
and  a  great  long-legged  strapping  young  friar, 
who  had  temporarily  taken  his  place,  undertook 
to  administer  punishment,  Myles,  with  a  wrestling 
trip,  flung  him  sprawling  backward  over  a  bench 
into  the  midst  of  a  shoal  of  small  boys  amid  a 
hubbub  of  riotous  confusion.  He  had  been 
flogged  soundly  for  it  under  the  supervision  of 
Prior  Edward  himself ;  but  so  soon  as  his  punish- 
ment was  over,he  assured  the  prior  very  seriously 
that  should  like  occasion  again  happen  he  would 
act  in  the  same  manner,  flogging  or  no  flogging. 

It  was  this  bold,  outspoken  spirit  that  gained 


him  at  once  friends  and  enemies  at  Devlen,  an& 
though  it  first  showed  itself  in  what  was  but  a 
little  matter,  nevertheless  it  set  a  mark  upon  him 
that  singled  him  out  from  the  rest,  and,  although 
he  did  not  suspect  it  at  the  time,  called  to  him  the 
attention  of  Sir  James  Lee  himself,  who  regarded 
him  as  a  lad  of  free  and  frank  spirit. 

The  first  morning  after  the  roll-call  in  the  ar- 
mory, as  Walter  Blunt,  the  head  bachelor,  rolled 
up  the  slip  of  parchment,  and  the  temporary  si- 
lence burst  forth  into  redoubled  noise  and  con- 
fusion, each  lad  arming  himself  from  a  row  of 
racks  that  stood  along  the  wall,  he  beckoned 
Myles  to  him. 

"  My  Lord  himself  hath  spoken  to  Sir  James 
Lee  concerning  thee,"  said  he.  "  Sir  James  main- 
tained that  he  will  not  enter  thee  into  the  body 
till  thou  hast  first  practised  for  a  while  at  the  pels, 
and  shown  what  thou  canst  do  at  broadsword. 
Hast  ever  fought  at  the  pel  ?" 

"  Aye,"  answered  Myles,  "  and  that  every  day 
of  my  life  sin  I  became  esquire  four  years  ago, 
saving  only  Sundays  and  holy  days." 

"  With  shield  and  broadsword  ?" 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Myles,  "  and  sometimes  with 
the  short  sword." 

"  Sir  James  would  have  thee  come  to  the  tilt- 
yard  this  morn;  he  himself  will  take  thee  in  hand 

44 


to  try  what  thcra  canst  do.  Thou  mayst  take 
the  arms  upon  yonder  rack,  and  use  them  until 
otherwise  bidden.  Thou  seest  that  the  number 
painted  above  it  on  the  wall  is  seventeen ;  that 
will  be  thy  number  for  the  nonce." 

So  Myles  armed  himself  from  his  rack  as  the 
others  were  doing  from  theirs.  The  armor  was 
rude  and  heavy;  used  to  accustom  the  body  to 
the  weight  of  the  iron  plates  rather  than  for  any 
defence.  It  consisted  of  a  cuirass,  or  breastplate 
of  iron,  opening  at  the  side  with  hinges,  and 
latching  with  hooks  and  eyes  epauliers,  or  shoul- 
der-plates ;  arm-plates  and  leg-pieces ;  and  a  basci- 
net,  or  open-faced  helmet.  A  great  triangular 
shield  covered  with  leather  and  studded  with 
bosses  of  iron,  and  a  heavy  broadsword,  pointed 
and  dulled  at  the  edges,  completed  the  equip- 
ment. 

The  practice  at  the  pels  which  Myles  was  bid- 
den to  attend  comprised  the  chief  exercise  of  the 
day  with  the  esquires  of  young  cadet  soldiers  of 
that  time,  and  in  it  they  learned  not  only  all  the 
strokes,  cuts,  and  thrusts  of  sword-play  then  in 
vogue,  but  also  toughness,  endurance,  and  elastic 
quickness.  The  pels  themselves  consisted  of  up- 
right posts  of  ash  or  oak,  about  five  feet  six  inches 
in  height,  and  in  girth  somewhat  thicker  than  a 
man's  thigh.     They  were  firmly  planted  in  the 

45 


ground,  and  upon  them  the  strokes  of  the  broad< 
sword  were  directed. 

At  Devlen  the  pels  stood  just  back  of  the 
open  and  covered  tilting  courts  and  the  archery 
ranges,  and  thither  those  lads  not  upon  house- 
hold duty  were  marched  every  morning  except- 
ing Fridays  and  Sundays,  and  were  there  exer- 
cised under  the  direction  of  Sir  James  Lee  and 
two  assistants.  The  whole  company  was  divided 
into  two,  sometimes  into  three  parties,  each  of 
which  took  its  turn  at  the  exercise,  delivering  at 
the  word  of  command  the  various  strokes,  feints, 
attacks,  and  retreats  as  the  instructors  ordered. 

After  five  minutes  of  this  mock  battle  the  per- 
spiration began  to  pour  down  the  faces,  and  the 
breath  to  come  thick  and  short;  but  it  was  not 
until  the  lads  could  absolutely  endure  no  more 
that  the  order  was  given  to  rest,  and  they  were 
allowed  to  fling  themselves  panting  upon  the 
ground,  while  another  company  took  its  place  at 
the  triple  row  of  posts. 

As  Myles  struck  and  hacked  at  the  pel  as- 
signed to  him,  Sir  James  Lee  stood  beside  him 
watching  him  in  grim  silence.  The  lad  did  his 
best  to  show  the  knight  all  that  he  knew  of  up- 
per cut,  under  cut,  thrust,  and  back-hand  stroke, 
but  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that  Sir  James  was 
very  well  satisfied  with  his  skill. 

46 


"  Thou  tightest  like  a  clodpole,"  said  the  old 
man.  "  Ha,  that  stroke  was  but  ill  -  recovered. 
Strike  me  it  again,  and  get  thou  in  guard  more 
quickly." 

Myles  repeated  the  stroke. 

u  Pest !"  cried  Sir  James.  "  Thou  art  too  slow 
fey  a  week.     Here,  strike  thou  the  blow  at  me." 

Myles  hesitated.  Sir  James  held  a  stout  staff 
in  his  hand,  but  otherwise  he  was  unarmed. 

"  Strike,  I  say !"  said  Sir  James.  "  What  stay- 
est  thou  for  ?     Art  afeard  ?" 

It  was  Myles's  answer  that  set  the  seal  of  in- 
dividuality upon  him.  "  Nay,"  said  he,  boldly,  "  I 
am  not  afeard.  I  fear  not  thee  nor  any  man !" 
So  saying,  he  delivered  the  stroke  at  Sir  James 
with  might  and  main.  It  was  met  with  a  jarring 
blow  that  made  his  wrist  and  arm  tingle,  and  the 
next  instant  he  received  a  stroke  upon  the  bas- 
cinet  that  caused  his  ears  to  ring  and  the  sparks 
to  dance  and  fly  before  his  eyes. 

"  Pardee !"  said  Sir  James,  grimly.  "An  I  had 
had  a  mace  in  my  hand,  I  would  have  knocked 
thy  cockerel  brains  out  that  time.  Thou  mayst 
take  that  blow  for  answering  me  so  pertly.  And 
now  we  are  quits.  Now  strike  me  the  stroke  again 
an  thou  art  not  afeard." 

Myles's  eyes  watered  in  spite  of  himself,  and 
he  shut  the  lids  tight  to  wink  the  dimness  away. 

47 


Nevertheless  he  spoke  up  undauntedly  as  before. 
"  Aye,  marry,  will  I  strike  it  again,"  said  he ;  and 
this  time  he  was  able  to  recover  guard  quickly 
enough  to  turn  Sir  James's  blow  with  his  shield, 
instead  of  receiving  it  upon  his  head. 

"  So  !"  said  Sir  James.  "  Now  mind  thee  of  this, 
that  when  thou  strikest  that  lower  cut  at  the  legs, 
recover  thyself  more  quickly.  Now,  then,  strike 
me  it  at  the  pel." 

Gascoyne  and  other  of  the  lads  who  were  just 
then  lying  stretched  out  upon  the  grass  beneath 
a  tree  at  the  edge  of  the  open  court  where  stood 
the  pels,  were  interested  spectators  of  the  whole 
scene.  Not  one  of  them  in  their  memory  had 
heard  Sir  James  so  answered  face  to  face  as 
Myles  had  answered  him ;  and,  after  all,  perhaps 
the  lad  himself  would  not  have  done  so  had  he 
been  longer  a  resident  in  the  squires'  quarters 
at  Devlen. 

"  By  'r  Lady !  thou  art  a  cool  blade,  Myles," 
said  Gascoyne,  as  they  marched  back  to  the  ar- 
mory again.  "  Never  heard  I  one  bespeak  Sir 
James  as  thou  hast  done  this  day." 

"And,  after  all,"  said  another  of  the  young 
squires,  "  old  Bruin  was  not  so  ill  -  pleased,  me- 
thinks.  That  was  a  shrewd  blow  he  fetched  thee 
on  the  crown,  Falworth.  Marry,  I  would  not 
have  had  it  on  my  own  skull  for  a  silver  penny." 

_.  48 


CHAPTER  VII. 

So  little  does  it  take  to  make  a  body's  reputa- 
tion. 

That  night  all  the  squires'  quarters  buzzed 
with  the  story  of  how  the  new  boy,  Falworth, 
had  answered  Sir  James  Lee  to  his  face  without 
fear,  and  had  exchanged  blows  with  him  hand  to 
hand.  Walter  Blunt  himself  was  moved  to  some 
show  of  interest. 

"  What  said  he  to  thee,  Falworth  ?"  asked  he. 

"He  said  naught," said  Myles,  brusquely.  "He 
only  sought  to  show  me  how  to  recover  from  the 
under  cut." 

"  It  is  passing  strange  that  he  should  take  so 
much  notice  of  thee  as  to  exchange  blows  with 
thee  with  his  own  hand.  Haply  thou  art  either 
very  quick  or  parlous  slow  at  arms." 

"  It  is  quick  that  he  is,"  said  Gascoyne,  speak- 
ing up  in  his  friend's  behalf.  "  For  the  second 
time  that  Falworth  delivered  the  stroke,  Sir 
James  could  not  reach  him  to  return ;  so  I  saw 
with  mine  own  eyes." 

D  4Q 


But  that  very  sterling  independence  that  had 
brought  Myles  so  creditably  through  this  ad- 
venture was  certain  to  embroil  him  with  the 
rude,  half-savage  lads  about  him,  some  of  whom, 
especially  among  the  bachelors,  were  his  supe- 
riors as  well  in  age  as  in  skill  and  training.  As 
said  before,  the  bachelors  had  enforced  from  the 
younger  boys  a  fagging  sort  of  attendance  on 
their  various  personal  needs,  and  it  was  upon 
this  point  that  Myles  first  came  to  grief.  As 
it  chanced,  several  days  passed  before  any  de- 
mand was  made  upon  him  for  service  to  the 
heads  of  the  squirehood,  but  when  that  demand 
was  made,  the  bachelors  were  very  quick  to  see 
that  the  boy  who  was  bold  enough  to  speak  up 
to  Sir  James  Lee  was  not  likely  to  be  a  willing 
fag  for  them. 

"  I  tell  thee,  Francis,"  he  said,  as  Gascoyne 
and  he  talked  over  the  matter  one  day — "  I  tell 
thee  I  will  never  serve  them.  Prithee,  what 
shame  can  be  fouler  than  to  do  such  menial 
service,  saving  for  one's  rightful  Lord  ?" 

"  Marry !"  quoth  Gascoyne ;  "  I  reason  not  of 
shame  at  this  or  that.  All  I  know  is  that  others 
serve  them  who  are  haply  as  good  and  maybe 
better  than  I  be,  and  that  if  I  do  not  serve  them 
I  get  knocked  i'  th'  head  therefore,  which  same 
goeth  soothly  against  my  stomach." 

50 


"  I  judge  not  for  thee,"  said  Myles.  "  Thou 
art  used  to  these  castle  ways,  but  only  I  know 
that  I  will  not  serve  them,  though  they  be  thirty 
against  me  instead  of  thirteen." 

"  Then  thou  art  a  fool,"  said  Gascoyne,  dryly. 

Now  in  this  matter  of  service  there  was  one 
thing  above  all  others  that  stirred  Myles  Fal- 
worth's  ill-liking.  The  winter  before  he  had 
come  to  Devlen,  Walter  Blunt,  who  was  some- 
what of  a  Sybarite  in  his  way,  and  who  had  a 
repugnance  to  bathing  in  the  general  tank  in 
the  open  armory  court  in  frosty  weather,  had 
had  Dick  Carpenter  build  a  trough  in  the  corner 
of  the  dormitory  for  the  use  of  the  bachelors, 
and  every  morning  it  was  the  duty  of  two  of  the 
younger  squires  to  bring  three  pails  of  water  to 
fill  this  private  tank  for  the  use  of  the  head  es- 
quires. It  was  seeing  two  of  his  fellow-esquires 
fetching  and  carrying  this  water  that  Myles  dis- 
liked so  heartily,  and  every  morning  his  bile  was 
stirred  anew  at  the  sight. 

"  Sooner  would  I  die  than  yield  to  such  vile 
service,"  said  he. 

He  did  not  know  how  soon  his  protestations 
would  be  put  to  the  test. 

One  night — it  was  a  week  or  two  after  Myles 
had  come  to  Devlen — Blunt  was  called  to  attend 
the  Earl  at  livery.     The  b'very  was  the  last  meal 

51 


of  the  day,  and  was  served  wita  great  pomp 
and  ceremony  about  nine  o'clock  at  night  to 
the  head  of  the  house  as  he  lay  in  bed.  Curfew 
had  not  yet  rung,  and  the  lads  in  the  squires' 
quarters  were  still  wrestling  and  sparring  and 
romping  boisterously  in  and  out  around  the  long 
row  of  rude  cots  in  the  great  dormitory  as  they 
made  ready  for  the  night.  Six  or  eight  flaring 
links  in  wrought- iron  brackets  that  stood  out 
from  the  wall  threw  a  great  ruddy  glare  through 
the  barrack-like  room  —  a  light  of  all  others  to 
romp  by.  Myles  and  Gascoyne  were  engaged 
in  defending  the  passage-way  between  their  two 
cots  against  the  attack  of  three  other  lads,  and 
Myles  held  his  sheepskin  coverlet  rolled  up  into 
a  ball  and  balanced  in  his  hand,  ready  for  launch- 
ing at  the  head  of  one  of  the  others  so  soon  as 
it  should  rise  from  behind  the  shelter  of  a  cot. 
Just  then  Walter  Blunt,  dressed  with  more  than 
usual  care,  passed  by  on  his  way  to  the  Earl's 
house.     He  stopped  for  a  moment  and  said, 

"  Mayhap  I  will  not  be  in  until  late  to-night. 
Thou  and  Falworth,  Gascoyne,  may  fetch  water 
to-morrow." 

Then  he  was  gone.  Myles  stood  staring  after 
his  retreating  figure  with  eyes  open  and  mouth 
agape,  still  holding  the  ball  of  sheepskin  balanced 
in  his  hand.    Gascoyne  burst  into  a  helpless  laugh 

52 


at  his  blank,  stupefied  face,  but  the  next  moment 
he  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 

"Myles,"  said  he,  "thou  wilt  not  make  trouble, 
wilt  thou?" 

Myles  made  no  answer.  He  flung  down  his 
sheepskin  and  sat  him  gloomily  down  upon  the 
side  of  the  cot. 

"I  said  that  I  would  sooner  die  than  fetch 
water  for  them,"  said  he. 

"Aye,  aye,"  said  Gascoyne;  "but  that  was 
spoken  in  haste." 

Myles  said  nothing,  but  shook  his  head. 

But,  after  all,  circumstances  shape  themselves. 
The  next  morning  when  he  rose  up  through  the 
dark  waters  of  sleep  it  was  to  feel  some  one 
shaking  him  violently  by  the  shoulder. 

"Come!"  cried  Gascoyne,  as  Myles  opened  his 
eyes — "come,  time  passeth,  and  we  are  late." 

Myles,  bewildered  with  his  sudden  awakening, 
and  still  fuddled  with  the  fumes  of  sleep,  hud- 
dled into  his  doublet  and  hose,  hardly  knowing 
what  he  was  doing;  tying  a  point  here  and  a 
point  there,  and  slipping  his  feet  into  his  shoes. 
Then  he  hurried  after  Gascoyne,  frowzy,  half- 
dressed,  and  even  yet  only  half-awake.  It  was 
not  until  he  was  fairly  out  into  the  fresh  air 
and  saw  Gascoyne  filling  the  three  leathern 
buckets  at  the  tank,  that  he  fully  awakened  to 

53 


the  fact  that  he  was  actually  doing  that  hateful 
service  for  the  bachelors  which  he  had  protested 
he  would  sooner  die  than  render. 

The  sun  was  just  rising,  gilding  the  crown  of 
the  donjon -keep  with  a  flame  of  ruddy  light. 
Below,  among  the  lesser  buildings,  the  day  was 
still  gray  and  misty.  Only  an  occasional  noise 
broke  the  silence  of  the  early  morning:  a  cough 
from  one  of  the  rooms;  the  rattle  of  a  pot  or 
a  pan,  stirred  by  some  sleepy  scullion;  the  clap- 
ping of  a  door  or  a  shutter,  and  now  and  then 
the  crowing  of  a  cock  back  of  the  long  row  of 
stables — all  sounding  loud  and  startling  in  the 
fresh  dewy  stillness. 

"Thou  hast  betrayed  me,"  said  Myles,  harsh- 
ly, breaking  me  silence  at  last.  "I  knew  not 
what  I  was  doing,  or  else  I  would  never  have 
come  hither.  Ne'meless,even  though  I  be  come, 
I  will  not  carry  the  water  for  them." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Gascoyne,  tartly.  "An  thou 
canst  not  stomach  it,  let  be,  and  I  will  e'en  carry 
all  three  myself.  It  will  make  me  two  journeys, 
but,  thank  Heaven,  I  am  not  so  proud  as  to  wish 
to  get  me  hard  knocks  for  naught."  So  saying, 
he  picked  up  two  of  the  buckets  and  started  away 
across  the  court  for  the  dormitory. 

Then  Myles,  With  a  lowering  face,  snatched  up 
the  third,  and,  hurrying  after,  gave  him  his  hand 

54 


with  the  extra  pail.  So  it  was  that  he  came  to 
do  service,  after  all. 

"  Why  tarried  ye  so  long  ?"  said  one  of  the 
older  bachelors,  roughly,  as  the  two  lads  emptied 
the  water  into  the  wooden  trough.  He  sat  on 
the  edge  of  the  cot,  blowzed  and  untrussed,  with 
his  long  hair  tumbled  and  disordered. 

His  dictatorial  tone  stung  Myles  to  fury.  "  We 
tarried  no  longer  than  need  be,"  answered  he, 
savagely.  "  Have  we  wings  to  fly  withal  at  your 
bidding?" 

He  spoke  so  loudly  that  all  in  the  room 
heard  him ;  the  younger  squires  who  were  dress- 
ing stared  in  blank  amazement,  and  Blunt  sat  up 
suddenly  in  his  cot. 

"  Why,  how  now  ?"  he  cried.  "  Answerest  thou 
back  thy  betters  so  pertly,  sirrah  ?  By  my  soul, 
I  have  a  mind  to  crack  thy  head  with  this  clog 
for  thy  unruly  talk." 

He  glared  at  Myles  as  he  spoke,  and  Myles 
glared  back  again  with  right  good-will.  Matters 
might  have  come  to  a  crisis,  only  that  Gascoyne 
and  Wilkes  dragged  their  friend  away  before  he 
had  opportunity  to  answer. 

"  An  ill-conditioned  knave  as  ever  I  did  see," 
growled  Blunt,  glaring  after  him. 

"  Myles,  Myles,"  said  Gascoyne,  almost  de- 
spairingly, "  why  wilt  thou  breed  such  mischief 

ss 


for  thyself?  Seest  thou  not  thou  hast  got  thee 
the  ill-will  of  every  one  of  the  bachelors,  from 
Wat  Blunt  to  Robin  de  Ramsey  ?" 

"  I  care  not,"  said  Myles,  fiercely,  recurring  to 
his  grievance.  "  Heard  ye  not  how  the  dogs  up- 
braided me  before  the  whole  room  ?  That  Blunt 
called  me  an  ill-conditioned  knave." 

"  Marry !"  said  Gascoyne,  laughing,  "  and  so 
thou  art." 

Thus  it  is  that  boldness  may  breed  one  ene- 
mies as  well  as  gain  one  friends.  My  own  no- 
tion is  that  one's  enemies  are  more  quick  to  act 
than  one's  friends. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Every  one  knows  the  disagreeable,  lurking  dis- 
comfort that  follows  a  quarrel — a  discomfort  that 
imbitters  the  very  taste  of  life  for  the  time  being. 
Such  was  the  dull  distaste  that  Myles  felt  that 
morning  after  what  had  passed  in  the  dormitory. 
Every  one  in  the  proximity  of  such  an  open  quar- 
rel feels  a  reflected  constraint,  and  in  Myles's 
mind  was  a  disagreeable  doubt  whether  that  con- 
straint meant  disapproval  of  him  or  of  his  late 
enemies. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  Gascoyne  added  the  last 
bitter  twang  to  his  unpleasant  feelings  when, 
half  an  hour  later,  they  marched  with  the  others 
to  chapel. 

"  Why  dost  thou  breed  such  trouble  for  thyself, 
Myles  ?"  said  he,  recurring  to  what  he  had  already 
said.  "  Is  it  not  foolish  for  thee  to  come  hither 
to  this  place,  and  then  not  submit  to  the  ways 
thereof,  as  the  rest  of  us  do  ?" 

"  Thou  talkest  not  like  a  true  friend  to  chide 

.57 


me  thus,"  said  Myles,  sullenly;  and  he  withdrew 
his  arm  from  his  friend's. 

"  Marry,  come  up !"  said  Gascoyne  ;"an  I  were 
not  thy  friend,  I  would  let  thee  jog  thine  own  way. 
It  aches  not  my  bones  to  have  thine  drubbed." 

Just  then  they  entered  the  chapel,  and  words 
that  might  have  led  to  a  quarrel  were  brought  to 
a  close. 

Myles  was  not  slow  to  see  that  he  had  the  ill 
will  of  the  head  of  their  company.  That  morn 
ing  in  the  armory  he  had  occasion  to  ask  some 
question  of  Blunt;  the  head  squire  stared  coldly 
at  him  for  a  moment,  gave  him  a  short,  gruff  an* 
swer,  and  then,  turning  his  back  abruptly,  began 
talking  with  one  of  the  other  bachelors.  Myles 
flushed  hot  at  the  other's  insulting  manner,  and 
looked  quickly  around  to  see  if  any  of  the  others 
had  observed  what  had  passed.  It  was  a  com- 
fort to  him  to  see  that  all  were  too  busy  arming 
themselves  to  think  of  anything  else ;  neverthe- 
less, his  face  was  very  lowering  as  he  turned  away. 

"  Some  day  I  will  show  him  that  I  am  as  good 
a  man  as  he,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  An  evil- 
hearted  dog  to  put  shame  upon  me !" 

The  storm  was  brewing  and  ready  to  break. 

That  day  was  exceptionally  hot  and  close,  and 
permission  had  been  asked  by  and  granted  to 


those  squires  not  on  duty  to  go  down  to  the 
river  for  a  bath  after  exercise  at  the  pels.  But  as 
Myles  replaced  his  arms  in  the  rack,  a  little  page 
came  with  a  bidding  to  come  to  Sir  James  in  his 
office. 

"Look,  now,"  said  Myles,  "here  is  just  my  ill- 
fortune.  Why  might  he  not  have  waited  an  hour 
longer  rather  than  cause  me  to  miss  going  with 
ye?" 

"Nay,"  said  Gascoyne,  "let  not  that  grieve 
thee,  Myles.  Wilkes  and  I  will  wait  for  thee  in 
the  dormitory — will  we  not,  Edmund?  Make 
thou  haste  and  go  to  Sir  James." 

Sir  James  was  sitting  at  the  table  studying 
over  a  scroll  of  parchment,  When  Myles  entered 
his  office  and  stood  before  him  at  the  table. 

"Well,  boy,"  said  he,  laying  aside  the  parch- 
ment and  looking  up  at  the  lad,  "I  have  tried 
thee  fairly  for  these  few  days,  and  may  say  that  I 
have  found  thee  worthy  to  be  entered  upon  the 
rolls  as  esquire  of  the  body." 

"I  give  thee  thanks,  sir,"  said  Myles. 

The  knight  nodded  his  head  in  acknowledg- 
ment, but  did  not  at  once  give  me  word  'of  dis- 
missal that  Myles  had  expected.  "Dost  mean  to 
write  thee  a  letter  home  soon?"  said  he,  suddenly. 

"Aye,"  said  Myles,  gaping  in  great  wonder- 
ment at  the  strangeness  of  the  question. 


"Then  when  thou  dost  so  write,"  said  Sir 
James,  "give  thou  my  deep  regards  to  thy  father." 
Then  he  continued,  after  a  brief  pause, "  Him  did 
I  know  well  in  times  gone  by,  and  we  were  right 
true  friends  in  hearty  love,  and  for  his  sake  I 
would  befriend  thee — that  is,  in  so  much  as  is 
fitting." 

"  Sir,"  said  Myles ;  but  Sir  James  held  up  his 
hand,  and  he  stopped  short  in  his  thanks. 

"  But,  boy,"  said  he,  "  that  which  I  sent  for  thee 
for  to  tell  thee  was  of  more  import  than  these. 
Dost  thou  know  that  thy  father  is  an  attainted 
outlaw?" 

"Nay,"  cried  Myles,  his  cheeks  blazing  up  as  red 
as  fire;  "  who  sayeth  that  of  him  lieth  in  his  teeth." 

"  Thou  dost  mistake  me,"  said  Sir  James,  qui- 
etly. "  It  is  sometimes  no  shame  to  be  outlawed 
and  banned.  Had  it  been  so,  I  would  not  have 
told  thee  thereof,  nor  have  bidden  thee  send 
my  true  love  to  thy  father,  as  I  did  but  now. 
But,  boy,  certes  he  standest  continually  in  great 
danger — greater  than  thou  wottest  of.  Were  it 
known  where  he  lieth  hid,  it  might  be  to  his  un- 
doing and  utter  ruin.  Methought  that  belike  thou 
mightest  not  know  that ;  and  so  I  sent  for  thee 
for  to  tell  thee  that  it  behoovest  thee  to  say  not 
one  single  word  concerning  him  to  any  of  these 

new  friends  of  thine,  nor  who  he  is,  nor  what  he  is." 

60 


"  But  how  came  my  father  to  be  so  banned  ?" 
said  Myles,  in  a  constrained  and  husky  voice,  and 
after  a  long  time  of  silence. 

"  That  I  may  not  tell  thee  just  now,"  said  the 
old  knight,  "  only  this — that  I  have  been  bidden 
to  make  it  known  to  thee  that  thy  father  hath  an 
enemy  full  as  powerful  as  my  Lord  the  Earl  him- 
self, and  that  through  that  enemy  all  his  ill -fort- 
une— his  blindness  and  everything — hath  come. 
Moreover,  did  this  enemy  know  where  thy  father 
lieth,  he  would  slay  him  right  speedily." 

"  Sir,"  cried  Myles,  violently  smiting  his  open 
palm  upon  the  table,  "tell  me  who  this  man  is, 
and  I  will  kill  him !" 

Sir  James  smiled  grimly.  "  Thou  talkest  like 
a  boy,"  said  he.  "  Wait  until  thou  art  grown  to 
be  a  man.  Mayhap  then  thou  mayst  repent  thee 
of  these  bold  words,  for  one  time  this  enemy  of 
thy  father's  was  reckoned  the  foremost  knight  in 
England,  and  he  is  now  the  King's  dear  friend 
and  a  great  lord." 

"  But,"  said  Myles,  after  another  long  time  of 
heavy  silence,  "will  not  my  Lord  then  befriend 
me  for  the  sake  of  my  father,  who  was  one  time 
his  dear  comrade  ?" 

Sir  James  shook  his  head.  "  It  may  not  be," 
said  he.  "  Neither  thou  nor  thy  father  must  look 
for  open  favor  from  the  Earl.     An  he  befriended 


61 


Falworth,  and  it  came  to  be  known  that  he  had 
given  him  aid  or  succor,  it  might  belike  be  to  his 
own  undoing.  No,  boy ;  thou  must  not  even  look 
to  be  taken  into  the  household  to  serve  with  gen- 
tlemen as  the  other  squires  do  serve,  but  must 
even  live  thine  own  life  here  and  fight  thine  own 
way." 

Myles's  eyes  blazed.  "  Then,"  cried  he,  fierce- 
ly, "  it  is  shame  and  attaint  upon  my  Lord  the 
Earl,  and  cowardice  as  well,  and  never  will  I  ask 
favor  of  him  who  is  so  untrue  a  friend  as  to  turn 
his  back  upon  a  comrade  in  trouble  as  he  turneth 
his  back  upon  my  father." 

"  Thou  art  a  foolish  boy,"  said  Sir  James  with 
a  bitter  smile,  "  and  knowest  naught  of  the  world. 
An  thou  wouldst  look  for  man  to  befriend  man 
to  his  own  danger,  thou  must  look  elsewhere 
than  on  this  earth.  Was  I  not  one  time  Mack- 
worth's  dear  friend  as  well  as  thy  father?  It 
could  cost  him  naught  to  honor  me,  and  here  am 
I  fallen  to  be  a  teacher  of  boys.  Go  to  !  thou  art 
a  fool." 

Then,  after  a  little  pause  of  brooding  silence, 

he  went  on  to  say  that  the  Earl  was  no  better 

or  worse  than  the  rest  of  the  world.     That  men 

of  his  position  had  many  jealous  enemies,  ever 

seeking  their  ruin,  and  that  such  must  look  first 

of  all  each  to  himself,  or  else  be  certainly  ruined, 

62 


and  drag  down  others  in  that  ruin.  Myles  was 
silenced,  but  the  bitterness  had  entered  his 
heart,  and  abided  with  him  for  many  a  day  after- 
wards. 

Perhaps  Sir  James  read  his  feelings  in  his 
frank  face,  for  he  sat  looking  curiously  at  him, 
twirling  his  grizzled  mustache  the  while.  "  Thou 
art  like  to  have  hard  knocks  of  it,  lad,  ere  thou 
hast  gotten  thee  safe  through  the  world,"  said 
he,  with  more  kindness  in  his  harsh  voice  than 
was  usual.  "  But  get  thee  not  into  fights  be- 
fore thy  time."  Then  he  charged  the  boy  very 
seriously  to  live  at  peace  with  his  fellow-squires, 
and  for  his  father's  sake  as  well  as  his  own  to 
enter  into  none  of  the  broils  that  were  so  fre- 
quent in  their  quarters. 

It  was  with  this  special  admonition  against 
brawling  that  Myles  was  dismissed,  to  enter,  be- 
fore five  minutes  had  passed,  into  the  first  really 
great  fight  of  his  life. 

Besides  Gascoyne  and  Wilkes,  he  found  gath* 
ered  in  the  dormitory  six  or  eight  of  the  company 
of  squires  who  were  to  serve  that  day  upon 
household  duty;  among  others,  Walter  Blunt  and 
three  other  bachelors,  who  were  changing  their 
coarse  service  clothes  for  others  more  fit  for  the 
household. 

6* 


"  Why  didst  thou  tarry  so  long,  Myles  ?"  said 
Gascoyne,  as  he  entered.  "  Methought  thou  wert 
never  coming." 

"  Where  goest  thou,  Falworth  ?"  called  Blunt 
from  the  other  end  of  the  room,  where  he  was 
lacing  his  doublet. 

Just  now  Myles  had  no  heart  in  the  swimming 
or  sport  of  any  sort,  but  he  answered,  shortly,  "  I 
go  to  the  river  to  swim." 

"Nay,"  said  Blunt,  "thou  goest  not  forth  from 
the  castle  to-day.  Hast  thou  forgot  how  thou 
didst  answer  me  back  about  fetching  the  water 
this  morning  ?  This  day  thou  must  do  penance, 
so  go  thou  straight  to  the  armory  and  scour  thou 
up  my  breastplate." 

From  the  time  he  had  arisen  that  morning  ev- 
erything had  gone  wrong  with  Myles.  He  had 
felt  himself  already  outraged  in  rendering  service 
to  the  bachelors,  he  had  quarrelled  with  the  head 
of  the  squires,  he  had  nearly  quarrelled  with  Gas- 
coyne, and  then  had  come  the  bitterest  and  worst 
of  all,  the  knowledge  that  his  father  was  an  out- 
law, and  that  the  Earl  would  not  stretch  out  a 
hand  to  aid  him  or  to  give  him  any  countenance. 
Blunts  words  brought  the  last  bitter  cut  to  his 
heart,  and  they  stung  him  to  fury.  For  a  while 
he  could  not  answer,  but  stood  glaring  with  a 

face  fairly  convulsed  with  passion  at  the  young 

64 


man,  who  continued  his  toilet,  unconscious  of  the 
wrath  of  the  new  recruit. 

Gascoyne  and  Wilkes,  accepting  Myles's  pun- 
ishment as  a  thing  of  course,  were  about  to  leave 
the  dormitory  when  Myles  checked  them. 

"  Stop,  Francis  !"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "  Think- 
est  thou  that  I  will  stay  behind  to  do  yon  dog's 
dirty  work  ?     No ;  I  go  with  ye." 

A  moment  or  two  of  dumb,  silent  amazement 
followed  his  bold  words;  then  Blunt  cried,  "Art 
thou  mad  ?" 

"  Nay,"  answered  Myles  in  the  same  hoarse 
voice,  "  I  am  not  mad.  I  tell  thee  a  better  man 
than  thou  shouldst  not  stay  me  from  going  an  I 
list  to  go." 

"  I  will  break  thy  cockerel  head  for  that  speech," 
said  Blunt,  furiously.  He  stooped  as  he  spoke, 
and  picked  up  a  heavy  clog  that  lay  at  his  feet. 

It  was  no  insignificant  weapon  either.     The 

shoes  of  those  days  were  sometimes  made  of  cloth, 

and  had  long  pointed  toes  stuffed  with  tow  or  wool. 

In  muddy  weather  thick  heavy  clogs  or  wooden 

soles  were  strapped,  like  a  skate,  to  the  bottom 

of  the  foot.     That  clog  which  Blunt  had  seized 

was  perhaps  eighteen  or  twenty  inches  long,  two  or 

two  and  a  half  inches  thick  at  the  heel,  tapering 

to  a  point  at  the  toe.    As  the  older  lad  advanced, 

Gascoyne  stepped  between  him  and  his  victim. 
K  65 


"  Do  not  harm  him,  Blunt,"  he  pleaded.  "  Bear 
thou  in  mind  how  new-come  he  is  among  us. 
He  knoweth  not  our  ways  as  yet." 

"  Stand  thou  back,  Gascoyne,"  said  Blunt,  harsh- 
ly, as  he  thrust  him  aside.  "  I  will  teach  him  our 
ways  so  that  he  will  not  soon  forget  them." 

Close  to  Myles's  feet  was  another  clog  like 
that  one  which  Blunt  held.  He  snatched  it  up, 
and  set  his  back  against  the  wall,  with  a  white  face 
and  a  heart  beating  heavily  and  tumultuously,  but 
with  courage  steeled  to  meet  the  coming  encoun- 
ter. There  was  a  hard,  grim  look  in  his  blue  eyes 
that,  for  a  moment  perhaps,  quelled  the  elder  lad. 
He  hesitated.  "  Tom  !  Wat !  Ned  !"  he  called  to 
the  other  bachelors,  "  come  hither,  and  lend  me 
a  hand  with  this  knave." 

"  An  ye  come  nigh  me,"  panted  Myles,  "  I  will 
brain  the  first  within  reach." 

Then  Gascoyne  dodged  behind  the  others,  and, 
without  being  seen,  slipped  out  of  the  room  for 
help. 

The  battle  that  followed  was  quick,  sharp,  and 
short.  As  Blunt  strode  forward,  Myles  struck, 
and  struck  with  might  and  main,  but  he  was  too 
excited  to  deliver  his  blow  with  calculation.  Blunt 
parried  it  with  the  clog  he  held,  and  the  next  in- 
stant, dropping  his  weapon,  gripped  Myles  tight 
about  the  body,  pinning  his  arms  to  his  sides. 


66 


Myles  also  dropped  the  clog  he  held,  and, 
wrenching  out  his  right  arm  with  a  sudden  heave, 
struck  Blunt  full  in  the  face,  and  then  with  an- 
other blow  sent  him  staggering  back.  It  all 
passed  in  an  instant;  the  next  the  three  other 
bachelors  were  upon  him,  catching  him  by  the 
body,  the  arms,  the  legs.  For  a  moment  or  two 
they  swayed  and  stumbled  hither  and  thither,  and 
then  down  they  fell  in  a  struggling  heap. 

Myles  fought  like  a  wild-cat,  kicking,  struggling, 
scratching;  striking  with  elbows  and  fists.  He 
caught  one  of  the  three  by  his  collar,  and  tore  his 
jacket  open  from  the  neck  to  the  waist ;  he  drove 
his  foot  into  the  pit  of  the  stomach  of  another, 
and  knocked  him  breathless.  The  other  lads  not 
in  the  fight  stood  upon  the  benches  and  the  beds 
around,  but  such  was  the  awe  inspired  by  the 
prestige  of  the  bachelors  that  not  one  of  them 
dared  to  lend  hand  to  help  him,  and  so  Myles 
fought  his  fierce  battle  alone. 

But  four  to  one  were  odds  too  great,  and  though 
Myles  struggled  as  fiercely  as  ever,  by-and-by  it 
was  with  less  and  less  resistance. 

Blunt  had  picked  up  the  clog  he  had  dropped 

when  he  first  attacked   the  lad,  and  now  stood 

over  the  struggling  heap,  white  with   rage,  the 

blood  running  from  his  lip,  cut  and  puffed  where 

Myles  had  struck  him,  and  murder  looking  out 

67 


from  his  face,  if  ever  it  looked  out  of  the  face  of 
any  mortal  being. 

"  Hold  him  a  little,"  said  he,  fiercely,  "  and  I 
will  still  him  for  you." 

Even  yet  it  was  no  easy  matter  for  the  others 
to  do  his  bidding,  but  presently  he  got  his  chance 
and  struck  a  heavy,  cruel  blow  at  Myles's  head. 
Myles  only  partly  warded  it  with  his  arm.  Hith- 
erto he  had  fought  in  silence;  now  he  gave  a 
harsh  cry. 

"Holy  Saints!"  cried  Edmund  Wilkes.  "They 
will  kill  him." 

Blunt  struck  two  more  blows,  both  of  them 
upon  the  body,  and  then  at  last  they  had  the 
poor  boy  down,  with  his  face  upon  the  ground 
and  his  arms  pinned  to  his  sides;  and  Blunt, 
bracing  himself  for  the  stroke,  with  a  grin  of 
rage  raised  a  heavy  clog  for  one  terrible  blow 
that  should  finish  the  fight 


"At  last  they  had  the  poor  boy  down" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  How  now,  messieurs  ?"  said  a  harsh  voice, 
that  fell  upon  the  turmoil  like  a  thunder- clap, 
and  there  stood  Sir  James  Lee.  Instantly  the 
struggle  ceased,  and  the  combatants  scrambled 
to  their  feet. 

The  older  lads  stood  silent  before  their  chief, 
but  Myles  was  deaf  and  blind  and  mad  with 
passion,  he  knew  not  where  he  stood  or  what 
he  said  or  did.  White  as  death,  he  stood  for  a 
while  glaring  about  him,  catching  his  breath  con- 
vulsively.    Then  he  screamed  hoarsely; 

"Who  struck  me?  Who  struck  me  when  I 
was  down  ?  I  will  have  his  blood  that  struck 
me  !"  He  caught  sight  of  Blunt.  "  It  was  he 
that  struck  me  !"  he  cried.  "  Thou  foul  traitor ! 
thou  coward !"  and  thereupon  leaped  at  his  ene- 
my like  a  wild-cat. 

"  Stop !"  cried   Sir  James  Lee,  clutching  him 

by  the  arm 

Myles  was  too  blinded  by  his  fury  to  see  who 
69 


it  was  that  held  him.  "I  will  not  stop !"  he  cried, 
struggling  'arid  striking  at  the  knight.  "Let  me 
go!  I  will  have  his  life  that  struck  me  when  I 
was  down!" 

The  next  moment  lie  found  himself  pinned 
close  against  the  wall,  and  then,  as  though  his 
sight  came  back,  he  saw  the  grim  face  of  the  old 
one-eyed  knight  looking  into  his. 

"Dost  thou  know  who  I  am?"  said  a  stern, 
harsh  voice. 

Instantly  Myles  ceased  struggling,  and  his 
arms  fell  at  his  side.  "Aye,"  'he  said,  in  a  gasp- 
ing voice,  "I  know  thee."  He  swallowed  spas- 
modically for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then,  in  the 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  burst  out  sobbing 
convulsively. 

Sir  James  marched  the  two  off  to  his  office, 
he  himself  walking  between  mem,  holding  an 
arm  of  each,  the  other  lads  following  behind, 
awe-struck  and  silent.  Entering  the  office,  Sir 
James  shut  the  door  behind  him,  leaving  the 
group  of  squires  clustered  outside  about  the 
Stone  steps,  speculating  in  whispers  as  to  what 
would  be  the  outcome  of  the  matter. 

After  Sir  James  had  seated  himself,  the  two 
standing  facing  him,  he  regarded  them  for  a 
while  in  silence.  "How  now,  Walter  Blunt," 
said  he  at  last,  "What  is  to  do?" 

70 


"  Why,  this,"  said  Blunt,  wiping  his  bleeding 
lip.  "  That  fellow,  Myles  Falworth,  hath  been 
breeding  mutiny  and  revolt  ever  sin  he  came 
hither  among  us,  and  because  he  was  thus  mu- 
tinous I  would  punish  him  therefor." 

"  In  that  thou  liest !"  burst  out  Myles.  "  Nev- 
er have  I  been  mutinous  in  my  life." 

"  Be  silent,  sir,"  said  Sir  James,  sternly.  "  I 
will  hear  thee  anon." 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  with  his  lips  twitching  and 
writhing,  "  I  will  not  be  silent.  I  am  friendless 
here,  and  ye  are  all  against  me,  but  I  will  not  be 
silent,  and  brook  to  have  lies  spoken  of  me." 

Even  Blunt  stood  aghast  at  Myles's  boldness. 
Never  had  he  heard  any  one  so  speak  to  Sir 
James  before.  He  did  not  dare  for  the  moment 
even  to  look  up.  Second  after  second  of  dead 
stillness  passed,  while  Sir  James  sat  looking  at 
Myles  with  a  stern,  terrifying  calmness  that 
chilled  him  in  spite  of  the  heat  of  his  passion. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  old  man  at  last,  in  a  hard,  quiet 
voice, "  thou  dost  know  naught  of  rules  and  laws 
of  such  a  place  as  this.  Nevertheless,  it  is  time 
for  thee  to  learn  them.  So  I  will  tell  thee  now 
that  if  thou  openest  thy  lips  to  say  only  one  sin- 
gle word  more  except  at  my  bidding,  I  will  send 
thee  to  the  black  vault  of  the  donjon  to  cool 
thy  hot  spirits  on  bread  and  water  tor  a  weet-r 

7J 


There  was  something  in  the  measured  quietness 
of  the  old  knight's  tone  that  quelled  Myles  ut- 
terly and  entirely.  A  little  space  of  silence  fol- 
lowed. "  Now,  then,  Blunt,"  said  Sir  James, 
turning  to  the  bachelor,  "  tell  me  all  the  ins  and 
outs  of  this  business  without  any  more  under- 
dealing." 

This  time  Blunts  story,  though  naturally  prej- 
udiced in  his  own  favor,  was  fairly  true.  Then 
Myles  told  his  side  of  the  case,  the  old  knight 
listening  attentively. 

"  Why,  how  now,  Blunt,"  said  Sir  James,  when 
Myles  had  ended,  "  I  myself  gave  the  lads  leave 
to  go  to  the  river  to  bathe.  Wherefore  shouldst 
thou  forbid  one  of  them  ?" 

"  I  did  it  but  to  punish  this  fellow  for  his  mu- 
tiny," said  the  bachelor.  "  Methought  we  at  their 
head  were  to  have  oversight  concerning  them." 

"  So  ye  are,"  said  the  knight ;  "  but  only  to  a 
degree.  Ere  ye  take  it  upon  ye  to  gainsay  any 
of  my  orders  or  permits,  come  ye  first  to  me. 
Dost  thou  understand  ?" 

"  Aye,"  answered  Blunt,  sullenly. 

"  So  be  it,  and  now  get  thee  gone,"  said  the 
knight  ;  "  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  beating 
out  brains  with  wooden  clogs.  An  ye  fight  your 
battles,  let  there  not  be  murder  in  them.  This 
is  twice  that  the  like  hath  happed;  gin  I  hear 

72 


more  of  such  doings — "  He  did  utter  his  threat, 
but  stopped  short,  and  fixed  his  one  eye  sternly 
upon  the  head  squire.  "  Now  shake  hands,  and 
be  ye  friends,"  said  he,  abruptly. 

Blunt  made  a  motion  to  obey,  but  Myles  put 
his  hand  behind  him. 

"  Nay,  I  shake  not  hands  with  any  one  who 
struck  me  while  I  was  down." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  the  knight,  grimly.  "  Now 
thou  mayst  go,  Blunt.  Thou,  Falworth,  stay;  I 
would  bespeak  thee  further." 

11  Tell  me,"  said  he,  when  the  elder  lad  had  left 
them,  "  why  wilt  thou  not  serve  these  bachelors 
as  the  other  squires  do  ?  Such  is  the  custom 
here.     Why  wilt  thou  not  obey  it  ?" 

"  Because,"  said  Myles,  "  I  cannot  stomach  it, 
and  they  shall  not  make  me  serve  them.  An 
thou  bid  me  do  it,  sir,  I  will  do  it ;  but  not  at 
their  command." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  knight,  "  I  do  not  bid  thee  do 
them  service.  That  lieth  with  thee,  to  render  or 
not,  as  thou  seest  fit.  But  how  canst  thou  hope 
to  fight  single-handed  against  the  commands  of  a 
dozen  lads  all  older  and  mightier  than  thou  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Myles  ;  "  but  were  they 
an  hundred,  instead  of  thirteen,  they  should  not 
make  me  serve  them." 

"  Thou  art  a  fool !"  said  the  old  knight,  smil- 

73 


ing  faintly, "  for  that  be'st  not  courage,  but  folly. 
When  one  setteth  about  righting  a  wrong,  one 
driveth  not  full  head  against  it,  for  in  so  doing 
one  getteth  naught  but  hard  knocks.  Nay,  go 
deftly  about  it,  and  then,  when  the  time  is  ripe, 
strike  the  blow.  Now  our  beloved  King  Henry, 
when  he  was  the  Earl  of  Derby,  what  could  he 
have  gained  had  he  stood  so  against  the  old 
King  Richard,  brooking  the  K  ing  face  to  face  ? 
I  tell  thee  he  would  have  been  knocked  on  the 
head  as  thou  wert  like  to  have  been  this  day. 
Now  were  I  thee,  and  had  to  fi^ht  a  fight  against 
odds,  I  would  first  get  me  frien  Is  behind  me,  and 
then — "  He  stopped  short,  but  Myles  understood 
him  well  enough. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  with  a  gulp,  rt  I  do  thank  thee 
for  thy  friendship,  and  ask  thy  pardon  for  doing 
as  I  did  anon." 

"  I  grant  thee  pardon,"  said  the  knight,  "  but 
tell  thee  plainly,  an  thou  dost  face  me  so  again,  I 
will  truly  send  thee  to  the  black  cell  for  a  week. 
Now  get  thee  away." 

All  the  other  lads  were  gone  when  Myles  came 
forth,  save  only  the  faithful  Gascoyne,  who  sacri- 
ficed his  bath  that  day  to  stay  with  his  friend;  and 
perhaps  that  little  act  of  self-denial  moved  Myles 
more  than  many  a  great  thing  might  have  done. 

74 


"  It  was  right  kind  of  thee,  Francis,"  said  he, 
laying  his  hand  affectionately  on  his  friend's 
shoulder.     "  I  know  not  why  thou  lovest  me  so." 

"  Why,  for  one  thing,  this  matter,"  answered 
his  friend ;  "  because  methinks  thou  art  the  best 
fighter  and  the  bravest  one  of  all  of  us  squires." 

Myles  laughed.  Nevertheless  Gascoyne's  words 
were  a  soothing  balm  for  much  that  had  hap- 
pened that  day.  "  I  will  fight  me  no  more  just 
now,"  said  he;  and  then  he  told  his  friend  all 
that  Sir  James  had  advised  about  biding  his 
time. 

Gascoyne  blew  a  long  whistle.  "  Beshrew  me!" 
quoth  he,  "  but  methinks  old  Bruin  is  on  thy 
side  of  the  quarrel,  Myles.  An  that  be  so,  I 
am  with  thee  also,  and  others  that  I  can  name 
as  well." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Myles.  "  Then  am  I  content 
to  abide  the  time  when  we  may  become  strong 
enough  to  stand  against  them." 


CHAPTER  X. 

Perhaps  there  is  nothing  more  delightful  in 
the  romance  of  boyhood  than  the  finding  of  some 
secret  hiding-place  whither  a  body  may  creep 
away  from  the  bustle  of  the  world's  life,  to  nestle 
in  quietness  for  an  hour  or  two.  More  especial- 
ly is  such  delightful  if  it  happen  that,  by  peeping 
from  out  it,  one  may  look  down  upon  the  bus- 
tling matters  of  busy  every-day  life,  while  one  lies 
snugly  hidden  away  unseen  by  any,  as  though  one 
tvere  in  some  strange  invisible  world  of  one's  own. 

Such  a  hiding-place  as  would  have  filled  the 
heart  of  almost  any  boy  with  sweet  delight  Myles 
and  Gascoyne  found  one  summer  afternoon. 
They  called  it  their  Eyry,  and  the  name  suited 
well  for  the  roosting-place  of  the  young  hawks 
that  rested  in  its  windy  stillness,  looking  down 
upon  the  shifting  castle  life  in  the  courts  below. 

Behind  the  north  stable,  a  great,  long,  rambling 

building,  thick-walled,  and  black  with  age,  lay  an 

older  part  of  the  castle  than  that  peopled  by  the 

76 


better  class  of  life — a  cluster  of  great  thick  walls, 
rudely  but  strongly  built,  now  the  dwelling-place 
of  stable-lads  and  hinds,  swine  and  poultry.  From 
one  part  of  these  ancient  walls,  and  fronting  an 
inner  court  of  the  castle,  arose  a  tall,  circular, 
heavy-buttressed  tower,  considerably  higher  than 
the  other  buildings,  and  so  mantled  with  a  dense 
growth  of  aged  ivy  as  to  stand  a  shaft  of  solid 
green.  Above  its  crumbling  crown  circled  hun- 
dreds of  pigeons,  white  and  pied,  clapping  and 
clattering  in  noisy  flight  through  the  sunny 
air.  Several  windows,  some  closed  with  shut- 
ters, peeped  here  and  there  from  out  the  leaves, 
and  near  the  top  of  the  pile  was  a  row  of 
arched  openings,  as  though  of  a  balcony  or  an 
airy  gallery. 

Myles  had  more  than  once  felt  an  idle  curios- 
ity about  this  tower,  and  one  day,  as  he  and  Gas- 
coyne  sat  together,  he  pointed  his  finger  and  said, 
"  What  is  yon  place  ?" 

"  That,"  answered  Gascoyne,  looking  over  his 
shoulder — "  that  they  call  Brutus  Tower,  for  why 
they  do  say  that  Brutus  he  built  it  when  he  came 
hither  to  Britain.  I  believe  not  the  tale  mii  e 
own  self ;  ne'theless,  it  is  marvellous  ancient,  an<J 
old  Robin-the- Fletcher  telleth  me  that  there  be 
stair-ways  built  in  the  wall  and  passage-ways,  and 
a  maze  wherein  a  body  may  get  lost,  an  he  know 

77 


-pot  the  way  aright,  and   never  see  the  blessed 
light  of  day  again." 

"  Marry,"  said  Myles,  "  those  same  be  strange 
sayings.     Who  liveth  there  now  ?" 

"  No  one  liveth  there,"  said  Gascoyne,  "  saving 
only  some  of  the  stable  villains,  and  that  half- 
witted goose-herd  who  flung  stones  at  us  yester- 
day when  we  mocked  him  down  in  the  paddock. 
He  and  his  wife  and  those  others  dwell  in  the 
vaults  beneath,  like  rabbits  in  any  warren.  No 
one  else  hath  lived  there  since  Earl  Robert's 
day,  which  belike  was  an  hundred  years  agons. 
The  story  goeth  that  Earl  Robert's  brother — or 
step-brother — was  murdered  there,  and  some  men 
say  by  the  Earl  himself.  Sin  that  day  it  hath 
been  tight  shut." 

Myles  stared  at  the  tower  for  a  while  in  si- 
lence. "  It  is  a  strange-seeming  place  from  with- 
out," said  he,  at  last,  "  and  mayhap  it  may  be 
even  more  strange  inside.  Hast  ever  been  with- 
in, Francis  ?" 

"Nay," said  Gascoyne;  "said  I  not  it  hath  been 
fast  locked  since  Earl  Robert's  day  ?" 

'  "  By  'r  Lady,"  said  Myles,  "  an  I  had  lived  here 
In  this  place  so  long  as  thou,  I  wot  I  would  have 
been  within  it  ere  this." 

"Beshrew  me," said  Gascoyne, "but  I  have  nev- 
er thought  of  such  a  matter."     He  turned  and 

78 


looked  at  the  ta.i  crown  rising  into  the  warm 
sunlight  with  a  new  interest,  for  the  thought 
of  entering  it  smacked  pleasantly  of  adventure. 
"  How  wouldst  thou  set  about  getting  within  ?" 
said  he,  presently. 

"  Why,  look,"  said  Myles ;  "  seest  thou  not  yon 
hole  in  the  ivy  branches  ?  Methinks  there  is  a 
window  at  that  place.  An  I  mistake  not,  it  is  in 
reach  of  the  stable  eaves.  A  body  might  come 
up  by  the  fagot  pile  to  the  roof  of  the  hen-house, 
and  then  by  the  long  stable  to  the  north  stable, 
and  so  to  that  hole." 

Gascoyne  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  Brutus 
Tower,  and  then  suddenly  inquired,  "  Wouldst 
go  there  ?" 

"  Aye,"  said  Myles,  briefly. 

"  So  be  it.  Lead  thou  the  way  in  the  venture, 
I  will  follow  after  thee,"  said  Gascoyne. 

As  Myles  had  said,  the  climbing  from  roof  to 
roof  was  a  matter  easy  enough  to  an  active  pair 
of  lads  like  themselves  ;  but  when,  by-and-by,  they 
reached  the  wall  of  the  tower  itself,  they  found 
the  hidden  window  much  higher  from  the  roof 
than  they  had  judged  from  below — perhaps  ten 
or  twelve  feet  —  and  it  was,  besides,  beyond  the 
eaves  and  out  of  their  reach. 

Myles  looked  up  and  looked  down.  Above 
was  the  bushy  thickness  of  the  ivy,  the  branches 


as  thick  as  a  woman's  wrist,  knotted  and  inter- 
twined ;  below  was  the  stone  pavement  of  a  nar- 
row inner  court  between  two  of  the  stable  build- 
ings. 

"  Methinks  I  can  climb  to  yon  place,"  said  he. 

"  Thou'lt  break  thy  neck  an  thou  tryest,"  said 
Gascoyne,  hastily. 

"  Nay,"  quoth  Myles,  "  I  trust  not ;  but  break 
or  make,  we  get  not  there  without  trying.  So 
here  goeth  for  the  venture." 

"  Thou  art  a  hare-brained  knave  as  ever  drew 
breath  of  life,"  quoth  Gascoyne,  "  and  will  cause 
me  to  come  to  grief  some  of  these  fine  days. 
Ne'theless,  an  thou  be  Jack  Fool  and  lead  the 
way,  go,  and  I  will  be  Tom  Fool  and  follow 
anon.  If  thy  neck  is  worth  so  little,  mine  is 
worth  no  more." 

It  was  indeed  a  perilous  climb,  but  that  special 
providence  which  guards  reckless  lads  befriended 
them,  as  it  has  thousands  of  their  kind  before  and 
since.  So,  by  climbing  from  one  knotted,  cling- 
ing stem  to  another,  they  were  presently  seated 
snugly  in  the  ivied  niche  in  the  window.  It  was 
barred  from  within  by  a  crumbling  shutter,  the 
rusty  fastening  of  which,  after  some  little  effort 
upon  the  part  of  the  two,  gave  way,  and  entering 
the  narrow  opening,  they  found  themselves  in  a 

small  triangular  passage-way,  from  which  a  steep 

80 


flight  of  stone  steps  led  down  through  a  hollow 
in  the  massive  wall  to  the  room  below. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  steps  was  a  heavy  oaken 
door,  which  stood  ajar,  hanging  upon  a  single 
rusty  hinge,  and  from  the  room  within  a  dull, 
gray  light  glimmered  faintly.  Myles  pushed  the 
door  farther  open ;  it  creaked  and  grated  hor- 
ribly on  its  rusty  hinge,  and,  as  in  instant  an- 
swer to  the  discordant  shriek,  came  a  faint  piping 
squeaking,  a  rustling  and  a  pattering  of  soft  foot- 
steps. 

"  The  ghosts  !"  cried  Gascoyne,  in  a  quavering 
whisper,  and  for  a  moment  Myles  felt  the  chill 
of  goose-flesh  creep  up  and  down  his  spine.  But 
the  next  moment  he  laughed. 

"  Nay,''  said  he,  "  they  be  rats.  Look  at  yon 
fellow,  Francis !  Best  as  big  as  Mother  Joan's 
kitten.  Give  me  that  stone."  He  flung  it  at 
the  rat,  and  it  flew  clattering  across  the  floor. 
There  was  another  pattering  rustle  of  hundreds 
of  feet,  and  then  a  breathless  silence. 

The  boys  stood  looking  around  them,  and  a 
strange  enough  sight  it  was.  The  room  was  a 
perfect  circle  of  about  twenty  feet  across,  and 
was  piled  high  with  an  indistinguishable  mass  of 
lumber — rude  tables,  ruder  chairs,  ancient  chests, 
bits  and  remnants  of  cloth  and  sacking  and  leath- 
er, old  helmets  and  pieces  of  armor  of  a  by-gone 


81 


time,  broken  spears  and  pole-axes,  pots  aiid  pans 
and  kitchen  furniture  of  all  sorts  and  kinds. 

A  straight  beam  of  sunlight  fell  through  a 
broken  shutter  like  a  bar  of  gold,  and  fell  upon 
the  floor  in  a  long  streak  of  dazzling  light  that 
illuminated  the  whole  room  with  a  yellow  glow. 

"  By  'r  Lady !"  said  Gascoyne  at  last,  in  a 
hushed  voice,  "  here  is  Father  Time's  garret  for 
sure.  Didst  ever  see  the  like,  Myles  ?  Look  at 
yon  arbalist;  sure  Brutus  himself  used  such  an 
one !" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles ;  "  but  look  at  this  saddle, 
Marry,  here  be'st  a  rat's  nest  in  it." 

Clouds  of  dust  rose  as  they  rummaged  among 
the  mouldering  mass,  setting  them  coughing  and 
sneezing.  Now  and  then  a  great  gray  rat  would 
shoot  out  beneath  their  very  feet,  and  disappear, 
like  a  sudden  shadow,  into  some  hole  or  cranny 
in  the  wall. 

"  Come,"  said  Myles  at  last,  brushing  the  dust 
from  his  jacket, "  an  we  tarry  here  longer  we  will 
have  chance  to  see  no  other  sights;  the  sun  is 
falling  low." 

An  arched  stair-way  upon  the  opposite  side  of 
the  room  from  which  they  had  entered  wound 
upward  through  the  wall,  the  stone  steps  being 
lighted  by  narrow  slits  of  windows  cut  through 

the  massive  masonry.     Above  the  room  they  had 

82 


"Myles  pushed  the  door  farther  open' 


just  left  was  another  of  the  same  shape  and  size, 
but  with  an  oak  floor,  sagging  and  rising  into 
hollows  and  hills,  where  the  joist  had  rotted  away 
beneath.  It  was  bare  and  empty,  and  not  even 
a  rat  was  to  be  seen.  Above  was  another  room ; 
above  that,  another ;  all  the  passages  and  stair* 
ways  which  connected  the  one  story  with  the 
other  being  built  in  the  wall,  which  was,  where 
solid,  perhaps  fifteen  feet  thick. 

From  the  third  floor  a  straight  flight  of  steps 
led  upward  to  a  closed  door,  from  the  other  side 
of  which  shone  the  dazzling  brightness  of  sun- 
light, and  whence  came  a  strange  noise — a  soft 
rustling,  a  melodious  murmur.  The  boys  put  their 
shoulders  against  the  door,  which  was  fastened, 
and  pushed  with  might  and  main — once,  twice ; 
suddenly  the  lock  gave  way,  and  out  they  pitched 
headlong  into  a  blaze  of  sunlight.  A  deafening 
clapping  and  uproar  sounded  in  their  ears,  and 
scores  of  pigeons,  suddenly  disturbed,  rose  in 
stormy  flight. 

They  sat  up  and  looked  around  them  in  silent 
wonder.  They  were  in  a  bower  of  leafy  green. 
It  was  the  top  story  of  the  tower,  the  roof  of 
which  had  crumbled  and  toppled  in,  leaving  it 
open  to  the  sky,  with  only  here  and  there  a 
slanting  beam  or  two  supporting  a  portion  of 
the  tiled  roof,  affording  shelter  for  the  nests  of 

83 


the  pigeons  crowded  closely  together.  Over  ev- 
erything the  ivy  had  grown  in  a  mantling  sheet 
— a  net-work  of  shimmering  green,  through  which 
the  sunlight  fell  flickering. 

"  This  passeth  wonder,"  said  Gascoyne,  at  last, 
breaking  the  silence. 

"  Aye,"  said  Myles,  "  I  did  never  see  the  like 
in  all  my  life."  Then,  "  Look,  yonder  is  a  room 
beyond  ;  let  us  see  what  it  is,  Francis." 

Entering  an  arched  door-way,  the  two  found 
themselves  in  a  beautiful  little  vaulted  chapel, 
about  eighteen  feet  long  and  twelve  or  fifteen 
wide.  It  comprised  the  crown  of  one  of  the  large 
massive  buttresses,  and  from  it  opened  the  row 
of  arched  windows  which  could  be  seen  from  be- 
low through  the  green  shimmering  of  the  ivy 
leaves.  The  boys  pushed  aside  the  trailing  ten- 
drils and  looked  out  and  down.  The  whole  cas- 
tle lay  spread  below  them,  with  the  busy  people 
unconsciously  intent  upon  the  matters  of  their 
daily  work.  They  could  see  the  gardener,  with 
bowed  back,  patiently  working  among  the  flowers 
in  the  garden,  the  stable-boys  below  grooming 
the  horses,  a  bevy  of  ladies  in  the  privy  garden 
playing  at  shuttlecock  with  battledoors  of  wood, 
a  group  of  gentlemen  walking  up  and  down  in 
front  of  the  Earl's  house.  They  could  see  the 
household  servants  hurrying  hither  and  thither, 


two  little  scullions  at  fisticuffs,  and  a  kitchen  girl 
standing  in  the  door-way  scratching  her  frowzy 
head. 

It  was  all  like  a  puppetshow  of  real  life,  each 
acting  unconsciously  a  part  in  the  play.  The 
cool  wind  came  in  through  the  rustling  leaves 
and  fanned  their  cheeks,  hot  with  the  climb  up 
the  winding  stair-way. 

"  We  will  call  it  our  Eyry,"  said  Gascoyne, 
"  and  we  will  be  the  hawks  that  live  here."  And 
that  was  how  it  got  its  name. 

The  next  day  Myles  had  the  armorer  make 
him  a  score  of  large  spikes,  which  he  and  Gas- 
coyne drove  between  the  ivy  branches  and  into 
the  cement  of  the  wall,  and  so  made  a  safe  pas- 
sage-way by  which  to  reach  the  window  niche  in 
the  wail. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  two  friends  kept  the  secret  of  the  Eyry  to 
themselves  for  a  little  while,  now  and  then  visit- 
ing the  old  tower  to  rummage  among  the  lumber 
stored  in  the  lower  room,  or  to  loiter  away  the 
afternoon  in  the  windy  solitudes  of  the  upper 
heights.  And  in  that  little  time,  when  the  an- 
cient keep  was  to  them  a  small  world  unknown 
to  any  but  themselves — a  world  far  away  above 
all  the  dull  matters  of  every-day  life — they  talked 
of  many  things  that  might  else  never  have  been 
known  to  one  another.  Mostly  they  spoke  the 
crude  romantic  thoughts  and  desires  of  boy- 
hood's time — chaff  thrown  to  the  wind,  in  which, 
however,  lay  a  few  stray  seeds,  fated  to  fall  to 
good  earth,  and  to  ripen  to  fruition  in  manhood's 
day. 

In  the  intimate  talks  of  that  time  Myles  im- 
parted something  of  his  honest  solidity  to  Gas- 
coyne's  somewhat  weathercock  nature,  and  to 
Myles's  ruder  and  more  uncouth  character  Gas- 

86 


coyne  lent  a  tone  of  his  gentler  manners,  learned 
in  his  pagehood  service  as  attendant  upon  the 
Countess  and  her  ladies. 

In  other  things,  also,  the  character  and  expe* 
rience  of  the  one  lad  helped  to  supply  what  was 
lacking  in  the  other.  Myles  was  replete  with 
old  Latin  gestes,  fables,  and  sermons  picked  up 
during  his  school  life,  in  those  intervals  of  his 
more  serious  studies  when  Prior  Edward  had 
permitted  him  to  browse  in  the  greener  pastures 
of  the  Gesta  Romanorum  and  the  Disciplina 
Clericalis  of  the  monastery  library,  and  Gascoyne 
was  never  weary  of  hearing  him  tell  those  mar- 
vellous stories  culled  from  the  crabbed  Latin  of 
the  old  manuscript  volumes. 

Upon  his  part  Gascoyne  was  full  of  the  lore 
of  the  waiting-room  and  the  antechamber,  and 
Myles,  who  in  all  his  life  had  never  known  a 
lady,  young  or  old,  excepting  his  mother,  was 
never  tired  of  lying  silently  listening  to  Gas. 
coyne's  chatter  of  the  gay  doings  of  the  castle 
gentle-life,  in  which  he  had  taken  part  so  often 
in  the  merry  days  of  his  pagehood. 

"  I  do  wonder,"  said  Myles,  quaintly,  "  that  thou 

couldst  ever  find  the  courage  to  bespeak  a  young 

maid,  Francis.    Never  did  I  do  so,  nor  ever  could. 

Rather  would  I  face  three  strong  men  than  one 

young  damsel." 

aa 


Whereupon  Gascoyne  burst  out  laughing. 
"  Marry !"  quoth  he, "  they  be  no  such  terrible 
things,  but  gentle  and  pleasant  spoken,  and  soft 
and  smooth  as  any  cat." 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  said  Myles ;  "  I  would 
not  face  one  such  for  worlds." 

It  was  during  the  short  time  when,  so  to  speak, 
the  two  owned  the  solitude  of  the  Brutus  Tower, 
that  Myles  told  his  friend  of  his  father's  outlawry 
and  of  the  peril  in  which  the  family  stood.  And 
thus  it  was. 

"  I  do  marvel,"  said  Gascoyne  one  day,  as  the 
two  lay  stretched  in  the  Eyry,  looking  down  into 
the  castle  court-yard  below — "  I  do  marvel,  now 
that  thou  art  'stablished  here  this  month  and 
more,  that  my  Lord  doth  never  have  thee  called 
to  service  upon  household  duty.  Canst  thou  rid- 
dle me  why  it  is  so,  Myles  ?" 

The  subject  was  a  very  sore  one  with  Myles. 
Until  Sir  James  had  told  him  of  the  matter  in 
his  office  that  day  he  had  never  known  that  his 
father  was  attainted  and  outlawed.  He  had  ac- 
cepted the  change  from  their  earlier  state  and 
the  bald  poverty  of  their  life  at  Crosbey-Holt 
with  the  easy  carelessness  of  boyhood,  and  Sir 
James's  words  were  the  first  to  awaken  him  to  a 
realization  of  the  misfortunes  of  the  house  of  Fal- 
worth.     His  was  a  brooding  nature,  and  in  the 


three  or  four  weeks  that  passed  he  had  meditated 
so  much  over  what  had  been  told  him,  that  by» 
and-by  it  almost  seemed  as  if  a  shadow  of  shame 
rested  upon  his  father's  fair  fame,  even  though 
the  attaint  set  upon  him  was  unrighteous  and 
unjust,  as  Myles  knew  it  must  be.  He  had  felt 
angry  and  resentful  at  the  Earl's  neglect,  and  as 
days  passed  and  he  was  not  noticed  in  any  way, 
his  heart  was  at  times  very  bitter. 

So  now  Gascoyne's  innocent  question  touched 
a  sore  spot,  and  Myles  spoke  with  a  sharp,  angry 
pain  in  his  voice  that  made  the  other  look  quick- 
ly up.  "  Sooner  would  my  Lord  have  yonder 
swine-herd  serve  him  in  the  household  than  me," 
said  he. 

"  Why  may  that  be,  Myles  ?"  said  Gascoyne. 

"  Because,"  answered  Myles,  with  the  same  an- 
gry bitterness  in  his  voice,  "  either  the  Earl  is  a 
coward  that  feareth  to  befriend  me,  or  else  he  is 
a  caitiff,  ashamed  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  and 
of  me,  the  son  of  his  one-time  comrade." 

Gascoyne  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow,  and 
opened  his  eyes  wide  in  wonder.  "  Afeard  of 
thee,  Myles !"  quoth  he.  "  Why  should  he  be 
afeared  to  befriend  thee  ?  Who  art  thou  that 
the  Earl  should  fear  thee  ?" 

Myles  hesitated  for  a  moment  or  two ;  wisdom 

bade  him  remain  silent  upon  the  dangerous  topic, 
G  89 


but  his  heart  yearned  for  sympathy  and  compan- 
ionship in  his  trouble.  "  I  will  tell  thee,"  said  he, 
suddenly,  and  therewith  poured  out  all  of  the 
story,  so  far  as  he  knew  it,  to  his  listening,  won- 
dering friend,  and  his  heart  felt  lighter  to  be  thus 
eased  of  its  burden.  "  And  now,"  said  he,  as  he 
concluded,  "  is  not  this  Earl  a  mean-hearted  cai* 
tiff  to  leave  me,  the  son  of  his  one-time  friend 
and  kinsman,  thus  to  stand  or  to  fall  alone  among 
strangers  and  in  a  strange  place  without  once 
stretching  me  a  helping  hand  ?"  He  waited,  and 
Gascoyne  knew  that  he  expected  an  answer. 

"  I  know  not  that  he  is  a  mean-hearted  caitiff, 
Myles,"  said  he  at  last,  hesitatingly.  "  The  Earl 
hath  many  enemies,  and  I  have  heard  that  he 
hath  stood  more  than  once  in  peril,  having  been 
accused  of  dealings  with  the  King's  foes.  He 
was  cousin  to  the  Earl  of  Kent,  and  I  do  remem- 
ber hearing  that  he  had  a  narrow  escape  at  that 
time  from  ruin.  There  be  more  reasons  than 
thou  wottest  of  why  he  should  not  have  dealings 
with  thy  father." 

"  I  had  not  thought,"  said  Myles,  bitterly,  after 
a  little  pause,  "  that  thou  wouldst  stand  up  for 
him  and  against  me  in  this  quarrel,  Gascoyne. 
Him  will  I  never  forgive  so  long  as  I  may  live, 
and  I  had  thought  that  thou  wouldst  have  stood 
by  me." 

90 


"So  I  do,"  said  Gascoyne,  hastily,  "and  do  love 
thee  more  than  any  one  in  all  the  world,  Myles; 
but  I  had  thought  that  it  would  make  thee  feel 
more  easy  to  think  that  the  Earl  wais  not  against 
thee.  And,  indeed,  from  all  thou  has  told  me,  I 
do  soothly  think  that  he  and  Sir  James  mean  to 
befriend  thee  and  hold  thee  privily  in  kind  re- 
gard." 

"Then  Why  doth  he  not  stand  forth  like  a  man 
and  befriend  me  and  my  father  openly^  even  if  it 
be  to  his  own  peril?"  said  Myles,  reverting  stub- 
bornly to  what  he  had  first  spoken. 

Gascoyne  did  not  answer,  but  lay  for  a  long 
while  in  silence.  "Knowest  thou,"  he  suddenly 
asked,  after  a  While,  "who  is  this  great  enemy  of 
whom  Sir  James  speaketh,  and  who  seeketh  so  to 
drive  thy  father  to  ruin?" 

"Nay,"  said  Myles,  "I  know  not,  for  my  father 
hath  never  spoken  of  these  things,  and  Sir  James 
would  not  tell  me.  But  this  I  know,"  said  he, 
suddenly,  grinding  his  teeth  together,  "an  I  do 
not  hunt  him  out  some  day  and  slay  him  like  a 
dog — "  He  stopped  abruptly,  and  Gascoyne, 
looking  askance  at  him,  saw  that  his  eyes  were 
full  of  tears,  whereupon  he  turned  his  looks  away 
again  quickly,  and  fell  to  shooting  pebbles  out 
through  the  open  window  with  his  finger  and 
thumb. 

91 


"Thou  wilt  tell  no  one  of  these  things  that  I 
have  said  ?"  said  Myles,  after  a  while. 

"  Not  I,"  said  Gascoyne.  "  Thinkest  thou  I 
could  do  such  a  thing?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  briefly. 

Perhaps  this  talk  more  than  anything  else  that 
had  ever  passed  between  them  knit  the  two  friends 
the  closer  together,  for,  as  I  have  said,  Myles  felt 
easier  now  that  he  had  poured  out  his  bitter 
thoughts  and  words  ;  and  as  for  Gascoyne,  I  think 
that  there  is  nothing  so  flattering  to  one's  soul  as 
to  be  made  the  confidant  of  a  stronger  nature. 

But  the  old  tower  served  another  purpose  than 
that  of  a  spot  in  which  to  pass  away  a  few  idle 
hours,  or  in  which  to  indulge  the  confidences  of 
friendship,  for  it  was  there  that  Myles  gathered 
a  backing  of  strength  for  resistance  against  the 
tyranny  of  the  bachelors,  and  it  is  for  that  more 
than  for  any  other  reason  that  it  has  been  told 
how  they  found  the  place  and  of  what  they  did 
there,  feeling  secure  against  interruption. 

Myles  Falworth  was  not  of  a  kind  that  forgets 
or  neglects  a  thing  upon  which  the  mind  has  once 
been  set.  Perhaps  his  chief  objective  since  the 
talk  with  Sir  James  following  his  fight  in  the  dor- 
mitory had  been  successful  resistance  to  the  ex- 
actions of  the  head  of  the  body  of  squires.     He 

92 


was  now  (more  than  a  month  had  passed)  looked 
upon  by  nearly  if  not  all  of  the  younger  lads  as 
an  acknowledged  leader  in  his  own  class.  So  one 
day  he  broached  a  matter  to  Gascoyne  that  had 
for  some  time  been  digesting  in  his  mind.  It 
was  the  formation  of  a  secret  order,  calling  them- 
selves the  "  Knights  of  the  Rose,"  their  meeting- 
place  to  be  the  chapel  of  the  Brutus  Tower,  and 
their  object  to  be  the  righting  of  wrongs,  "  as 
they,"  said  Myles,  "  of  Arthur  his  Round-table  did 
right  wrongs." 

"  But,  prithee,  what  wrongs  are  there  to  right 
in  this  place?"  quoth  Gascoyne,  after  listening  in- 
tently to  the  plan  which  Myles  set  forth. 

"  Why,  first  of  all,  this,"  said  Myles,  clinching 
his  fists,  as  he  had  a  habit  of  doing  when  any- 
thing stirred  him  deeply,  "  that  we  set  those  vile 
bachelors  to  their  right  place;  and  that  is,  that 
they  be  no  longer  our  masters,  but  our  fellows." 

Gascoyne  shook  his  head.  He  hated  clashing 
and  conflict  above  all  things,  and  was  for  peace. 
Why  should  they  thus  rush  to  thrust  themselves 
into  trouble?  Let  matters  abide  as  they  were  a 
little  longer;  surely  life  was  pleasant  enough  with- 
out turning  it  all  topsy-turvy.  Then,  with  a  sort 
of  indignation,  why  should  Myles,  who  had  only 
come  among  them  a  month,  take  such  service 
more  to  heart  than  they  who  had  endured  it  for 

93- 


years  ?  And,  finally,  with  the  hopefulness  of  so 
many  of  the  rest  of  us,  he  advised  Myles  to  let 
matters  alone,  and  they  would  right  themselves  in 
time. 

But  Myles's  mind  was  determined;  his  active 
spirit  could  not  brook  resting  passively  under  a 
wrong;  he  would  endure  no  longer,  and  now  or 
never  they  must  make  their  stand. 

"  But  look  thee,  Myles  Falworth,"  said  Gas- 
coyne,  "  all  this  is  not  to  be  done  withouten  fight- 
ing shrewdly.  Wilt  thou  take  that  fighting  upon 
thine  own  self?  As  for  me,  I  tell  thee  I  love  it 
not. 

"  Why,  aye,"  said  Myles;  "  I  ask  no  man  to  do 
what  I  will  not  do  myself." 

Gascoyne  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  So  be  it," 
said  he.  "  An  thou  hast  appetite  to  run  thy  head 
against  hard  knocks,  do  it  i'  mercy's  name  !  I  for 
one  will  stand  thee  back  while  thou  art  taking 
thy  raps." 

There  was  a  spirit  of  drollery  in  Gascoyne's 
speech  that  rubbed  against  Myles's  earnestness. 

"  Out  upon  it !"  cried  he,  his  patience  giving 
way.  "  Seest  not  that  I  am  in  serious  earnest? 
Why  then  dost  thou  still  jest  like  Mad  Noll,  my 
Lord's  fool  ?  An  thou  wilt  not  lend  me  thine  aid 
in  this  matter,  say  so  and  ha'  done  with  it,  and  I 
will  bethink  me  of  somewhere  else  to  turn." 

94 


Then  Gascoyne  yielded  at  once,  as  he  always 
did  when  his  friend  lost  his  temper,  and  having 
once  assented  to  it,  entered  into  the  scheme  heart 
and  soul.  Three  other  lads — one  of  them  that  tall 
thin  squire  Edmund  Wilkes,  before  spoken  of — ■ 
were  sounded  upon  the  subject.  They  also  en, 
tered  into  the  plan  of  the  secret  organization  with 
an  enthusiasm  which  might  perhaps  not  have 
been  quite  so  glowing  had  they  realized  how  very 
soon  Myles  designed  embarking  upon  active  prac- 
tical operations  One  day  Myles  and  Gascoyne 
showed  them  the  strange  things  that  they  had 
discovered  in  the  old  tower — the  inner  staircases, 
the  winding  passage-ways,  the  queer  niches  and 
cupboard,  and  the  black  shaft  of  a  well  that  pierced 
down  into  the  solid  wall,  and  whence,  perhaps, 
the  old  castle  folk  had  one  time  drawn  their  sup- 
ply of  water  in  time  of  siege,  and  with  every  new 
wonder  of  the  marvellous  place  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  three  recruits  rose  higher  and  higher.  They 
rummaged  through  the  lumber  pile  in  the  great 
circular  room  as  Myles  and  Gascoyne  had  done, 
and  at  last,  tired  out,  they  ascended  to  the  airy 
chapel,  and  there  sat  cooling  themselves  in  the 
rustling  freshness  of  the  breeze  that  came  blow- 
ing briskly  in  through  the  arched  windows. 

It  was  then  and  there  that  the  five  discussed 
and  finally  determined  upon  the  detailed  plans  of 

95 


their  organization,  canvassing  the  names  of  the 
squirehood,  and  selecting  from  it  a  sufficient  num- 
ber of  bold  and  daring  spirits  to  make  up  a  roll 
of  twenty  names  in  all. 

Gascoyne  had,  as  I  said,  entered  into  the  mat- 
ter with  spirit,  and  perhaps  it  was  owing  more  to 
him  than  to  any  other  that  the  project  caught  its 
delightful  flavor  of  romance. 

"  Perchance,"  said  he,  as  the  five  lads  lay  in  the 
rustling  stillness  through  which  sounded  the  mo- 
notonous and  ceaseless  cooing  of  the  pigeons — 
"perchance  there  may  be  dwarfs  and  giants  and 
dragons  and  enchanters  and  evil  knights  and 
what  not  even  nowadays.  And  who  knows  but 
that  if  we  Knights  of  the  Rose  hold  together  we 
may  go  forth  into  the  world,  and  do  battle  with 
them,  and  save  beautiful  ladies,  and  have  tales 
and  gestes  written  about  us  as  they  are  writ 
about  the  Seven  Champions  and  Arthur  his 
Round-table." 

Perhaps  Myles,  who  lay  silently  listening  to  all 
that  was  said,  was  the  only  one  who  looked  upon 
the  scheme  at  all  in  the  light  of  real  utility,  but  I 
think  that  even  with  him  the  fun  of  the  matter 
outweighed  the  serious  part  of  the  business. 

So  it  was  that  the  Sacred  Order  of  the  Twenty 

Knights  of  the  Rose  came  to  be  initiated.     They 

appointed  a  code  of  secret  passwords  and  coun- 

96 


tersigns  which  were  very  difficult  to  remember, 
and  which  were  only  used  when  they  might  excite 
the  curiosity  of  the  other  and  uninitiated  boys  by 
their  mysterious  sound.  They  elected  Myles  as 
their  Grand  High  Commander,  and  held  secret 
meetings  in  the  ancient  tower,  where  many  mys- 
teries were  soberly  enacted. 

Of  course  in  a  day  or  two  all  the  body  of  squires 
knew  nearly  everything  concerning  the  Knights 
of  the  Rose,  and  of  their  secret  meetings  in  the 
old  tower.  The  lucky  twenty  were  the  objects  of 
envy  of  all  not  so  fortunate  as  to  be  included  in 
this  number,  and  there  was  a  marked  air  of  se- 
crecy about  everything  they  did  that  appealed  to 
every  romantic  notion  of  the  youngsters  looking 
on.  What  was  the  stormy  outcome  of  it  all  is 
now  presently  to  be  told. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Thus  it  was  that  Myles,  with  an  eye  to  open 
war  with  the  bachelors,  gathered  a  following  to 
his  support.  It  was  some  little  while  before 
matters  were  brought  to  a  crisis — a  week  or  ten 
days.  Perhaps  even  Myles  had  no  great  desire 
to  hasten  matters.  He  knew  that  whenever  war 
was  declared,  he  himself  would  have  to  bear  the 
brunt  of  the  battle,  and  even  the  bravest  man 
hesitates  before  deliberately  thrusting  himself 
into  a  fight. 

One  morning  Myles  and  Gascoyne  and  Wilkes 
sat  under  the  shade  of  two  trees,  between  which 
was  a  board  nailed  to  the  trunks,  making  a  rude 
bench — always  a  favorite  lounging-place  for  the 
lads  in  idle  moments.  Myles  was  polishing  his 
bascinet  with  lard  and  wood-ashes,  rubbing  the 
metal  with  a  piece  of  leather,  and  wiping  it  clean 
with  a  fustian  rag.  The  other  two,  who  had  just 
been  relieved  from  household  duty,  lay  at  length 
idly  looking  on. 

98 


Just  then  one  of  the  smaller  pages,  a  boy  of 
twelve  or  thirteen,  by  name  Robin  Ingoldsby, 
crossed  the  court.  He  had  been  crying;  his 
face  was  red  and  blubbered,  and  his  body  was 
still  shaken  with  convulsive  sniffs. 

Myles  looked  up.  "  Come  hither,  Robin,"  he 
called  from  where  he  sat.     "  What  is  to  do  ?" 

The  little  fellow  came  slowly  up  to  where  the 
three  rested  in  the  shade.  "  Mowbray  beat  me 
with  a  strap,"  said  he,  rubbing  his  sleeve  across 
his  eyes,  and  catching  his  breath  at  the  recollec- 
tion. 

"  Beat  thee,  didst  say  ?"  said  Myles,  drawing 
his  brows  together.     "  Why  did  he  beat  thee  ?" 

"  Because,"  said  Robin,  "  I  tarried  overlong  in 
fetching  a  pot  of  beer  from  the  buttery  for  him 
and  Wyatt."  Then,  with  a  boy's  sudden  and 
easy  quickness  in  forgetting  past  troubles,  "  Tell 
me,  Falworth,"  said  he, "  when  wilt  thou  give  me 
that  knife  thou  promised  me  —  the  one  thou 
break  the  blade  of  yesterday  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Myles,  bluntly,  vexed  that 
the  boy  did  not  take  the  disgrace  of  his  beating 
more  to  heart.  "  Some  time  soon,  mayhap,  Me- 
thinks  thou  shouldst  think  more  of  thy  beating 
than  of  a  broken  knife.  Now  get  thee  gone  to 
thy  business." 

The  youngster  lingered  for  a  moment  or  two 


watching  Myles  at  his  work.     "  What  is  that  on 
the  leather  scrap,  Falworth?"  said  he,  curiously. 

"  Lard  and  ashes,"  said  Myles,  testily.  "  Get 
thee  gone,  I  say,  or  I  will  crack  thy  head  for 
thee ;"  and  he  picked  up  a  block  of  wood,  with 
a  threatening  gesture. 

The  youngster  made  a  hideous  grimace,  and 
then  scurried  away,  ducking  his  head,  lest  in 
spite  of  Myles's  well-known  good -nature  the 
block  should  come  whizzing  after  him. 

"  Hear  ye  that  now !"  cried  Myles,  flinging 
down  the  block  again  and  turning  to  his  two 
friends.  "  Beaten  with  straps  because,  forsooth, 
he  would  not  fetch  and  carry  quickly  enough  to 
please  the  haste  of  these  bachelors.  Oh,  this 
passeth  patience,  and  I  for  one  will  bear  it  no 
longer." 

"  Nay,  Myles,"  said  Gascoyne,  soothingly,  "  the 
little  imp  is  as  lazy  as  a  dormouse  and  as  mis- 
chievous as  a  monkey.  I'll  warrant  the  hiding 
was  his  due,  and  that  more  of  the  like  would  do 
him  good." 

"  Why,  how  dost  thou  talk,  Francis !"  said 
Myles,  turning  upon  him  indignantly.  "  Thou 
knowest  that  thou  likest  to  see  the  boy  beaten 
no  more  than  I."  Then,  after  a  meditative  pause, 
"  How  many,  think  ye,  we  muster  of  our  com- 
pany of  the  Rose  to-day  ?" 

too 


Wilkes  looked  doubtfully  at  Gascoyne.  "  There 
be  only  seventeen  of  us  here  now,"  said  he  at 
last.  "  Brinton  and  Lambourne  are  away  to 
Roby  Castle  in  Lord  George's  train,  and  will 
not  be  back  till  Saturday  next  And  Watt  New- 
ton is  in  the  infirmary," 

"  Seventeen  be'st  enou,"  said  Myles,  grimly. 
*Let  us  get  together  this  afternoon,  such  as  may, 
in  the  Brutus  Tower,  for  I,  as  I  did  say,  will  no 
longer  suffer  these  vile  bachelors." 

Gascoyne  and  Wilkes  exchanged  looks,  and 
then  the  former  blew  a  long  whistle. 

So  that  afternoon  a  gloomy  set  of  young  faces 
were  gathered  together  in  the  Eyry — fifteen  of 
the  Knights  of  the  Rose — and  all  knew  why 
they  were  assembled.  The  talk  which  followed 
was  conducted  mostly  by  Myles.  He  addressed 
the  others  with  a  straightforward  vim  and  ear- 
nestness, but  the  response  was  only  half-heart- 
ed; and  when  at  last,  having  heated  himself  up 
with  his  own  fire,  he  sat  down,  puffing  out  his 
red  cheeks  and  glaring  round,  a  space  of  silence 
followed,  the  lads  looked  doubtfully  at  one  anoth- 
er. Myles  felt  the  chill  of  their  silence  strike 
coldly  on  his  enthusiasm,  and  it  vexed  him. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  do,  Falworth  ?"  said  one 
of  the  knights,  at  last.  "  Wouldst  have  us  open 
a  quarrel  with  they  bachelors  ?" 


"Nay,"  said  Myles,  gruffly.  "I  had  thought 
that  ye  would  all  lend  me  a  hand  in  a  pitched 
battle,  but  now  I  see  that  ye  ha'  no  stomach  for 
that.  Ne'theless,  I  tell  ye  plainly  I  will  not  sub- 
mit longer  to  the  bachelors.  So  now  I  will  ask 
ye  not  to  take  any  venture  upon  yourselves,  but 
only  this :  that  ye  will  stand  by  me  when  I  do 
my  fighting,  and  not  let  five  or  seven  of  them 
fail  upon  me  at  once." 

"There  is  Walter  Blunt;  he  is  parlous  strong," 
said  one  of  the  others,  after  a  time  of  silence. 
"Methinks  he  could  conquer  any  two  of  us." 

"Nay,"  said  Myles ;  "ye  do  fear  him  too  great- 
ly. I  tell  ye  I  fear  not  to  stand  up  to  try  battle 
with  him,  and  will  do  so,  too,  if  the  need  arise. 
Only  say  ye  that  ye  will  stand  by  my  back." 

"Marry,"  said  Gascoyne,  quaintly,  "an  thou 
wilt  dare  take  the  heavy  end  upon  thee,  I  for 
one  am  willing  to  stand  by  and  see  that  thou 
have  thy  fill  of  fighting." 

"I  too  will  stand  thee  by,  Myles,"  said  Ed- 
mund Wilkes. 

"And  I,  and  I,  and  I,"  said  others,  chiming  in. 

Those  who  would  still  have  held  back  were 
carried  along  by  the  stream,  and  so  it  was  settled 
that  if  the  need  should  arise  for  Myles  to  do  a 
bit  of  fighting,  the  others  should  stand  by  to  see 
that  he  had  fair  play. 


"  When  thinkest  thou  that  thou  wilt  take  thy 
stand  against  them,  Myles  ?"  asked  Wilkes. 

Myles  hesitated  a  moment.  "To-morrow," 
said  he,  grimly. 

Several  of  the  lads  whistled  softly. 

Gascoyne  was  prepared  for  an  early  opening 
of  the  war,  but  perhaps  not  for  such  an  early 
opening  as  this.  "  By  'r  Lady,  Myles,  thou  art 
hungry  for  brawling,"  said  he. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

After  the  first  excitement  of  meeting,  discuss- 
ing, and  deciding  had  passed,  Myles  began  to 
feel  the  weight  of  the  load  he  had  so  boldly 
taken  upon  himself.  He  began  to  reckon  what 
a  serious  thing  it  was  for  him  to  stand  as  a  single 
champion  against  the  tyranny  that  had  grown  so 
strong  through  years  of  custom.  Had  he  let  him- 
self do  so,  he  might  almost  have  repented,  but  it 
was  too  late  now  for  repentance.  He  had  laid 
his  hand  to  the  plough,  and  he  must  drive  the 
furrow. 

Somehow  the  news  of  impending  battle  had 
leaked  out  among  the  rest  of  the  body  of  squires, 
and  a  buzz  of  suppressed  excitement  hummed 
through  the  dormitory  that  evening.  The  bache- 
lors, to  whom,  no  doubt,  vague  rumors  had  been 
blown,  looked  lowering,  and  talked  together  in 
low  voices,  standing  apart  in  a  group.  Some  of 
them  made  a  rather  marked  show  of  secreting 

knives  in  the  straw  of  their  beds,  and  no  doubt  it 

104 


had  its  effect  upon  more  than  one  young  heart 
that  secretly  thrilled  at  the  sight  of  the  shining 
blades.  However,  all  was  undisturbed  that  even- 
ing. The  lights  were  put  out,  and  the  lads  re- 
tired with  more  than  usual  quietness,  only  for  the 
murmur  of  whispering. 

All  night  Myles's  sleep  was  more  or  less  dis- 
turbed by  dreams  in  which  he  was  now  conquer- 
ing, now  being  conquered,  and  before  the  day  had 
fairly  broken  he  was  awake.  He  lay  upon  his 
cot,  keying  himself  up  for  the  encounter  which  he 
had  set  upon  himself  to  face,  and  it  would  not  be 
the  truth  to  say  that  the  sight  of  those  knives 
hidden  in  the  straw  the  night  before  had  made  no 
impression  upon  him.  By-and-by  he  knew  the 
others  were  beginning  to  awake,  for  he  heard 
them  softly  stirring,  and  as  the  light  grew  broad 
and  strong,  saw  them  arise,  one  by  one,  and  begin 
dressing  in  the  gray  morning.  Then  he  himself 
arose  and  put  on  his  doublet  and  hose,  strapping 
his  belt  tightly  about  his  waist;  then  he  sat  down 
on  the  side  of  his  cot. 

Presently  that  happened  for  which  he  was  wait- 
ing; two  of  the  younger  squires  started  to  bring 
the  bachelors'  morning  supply  of  water.  As  they 
crossed  the  room  Myles  called  to  them  in  a  loud 
voice — a  little  uneven,  perhaps: 

"  Stop !    We  draw  no  more  water  for  any  one 
H  105 


in  this  house,  saving  only  for  ourselves.  Set  ye 
down  those  buckets,  and  go  back  to  your  places  !" 

The  two  lads  stopped,  half  turned,  and  then 
stood  still,  holding  the  three  buckets  undecid- 
edly. 

In  a  moment  all  was  uproar  and  confusion,  for 
by  this  time  every  one  of  the  lads  had  arisen, 
some  sitting  on  the  edge  of  their  beds,  some 
nearly,  others  quite  dressed.  A  half-dozen  of  the 
Knights  of  the  Rose  came  over  to  where  Myles 
stood,  gathering  in  a  body  behind  him,  and  the 
others  followed,  one  after  another. 

The  bachelors  were  hardly  prepared  for  such 
prompt  and  vigorous  action. 

"  What  is  to  do  ?"  cried  one  of  them,  who  stood 
near  the  two  lads  with  the  buckets.  "  Why  fetch 
ye  not  the  water  ?" 

"  Falworth  says  we  shall  not  fetch  it,"  answered 
one  of  the  lads,  a  boy  by  the  name  of  Gosse. 

"  What  mean  ye  by  that,  Falworth  ?"  the  young 
man  called  to  Myles. 

Myles's  heart  was  beating  thickly  and  heavily 
within  him,  but  nevertheless  he  spoke  up  boldly 
enough.  "  I  mean,"  said  he,  "  that  from  hence- 
forth ye  shall  fetch  and  carry  for  yourselves." 

"  Lookee,  Blunt,"  called  the  bachelor ;  " here 
is  Falworth  says  they  squires  will  fetch  no  more 
water  for  us." 

106 


The  head  bachelor  had  heard  all  that  had 
passed,  and  was  even  then  hastily  slipping  on  his 
doublet  and  hose.  "  Now,  then,  Falworth,"  said 
he  at  last,  striding  forward,  "  what  is  to  do  ?  Ye 
will  fetch  no  more  water,  eh  ?  By  'r  Lady,  I  will 
know  the  reason  why." 

He  was  still  advancing  towards  Myles,  with  two 
or  three  of  the  older  bachelors  at  his  heels,  when 
Gascoyne  spoke. 

"  Thou  hadst  best  stand  back,  Blunt,"  said  he, 
"  else  thou  mayst  be  hurt.  We  will  not  have  ye 
bang  Falworth  again  as  ye  once  did,  so  stand 
thou  back !" 

Blunt  stopped  short  and  looked  upon  the  lads 
standing  behind  Myles,  some  of  them  with  faces 
a  trifle  pale  perhaps,  but  all  grim  and  determined 
looking  enough.  Then  he  turned  upon  his  heel 
suddenly,  and  walked  back  to  the  far  end  of  the 
dormitory,  where  the  bachelors  were  presently 
clustered  together.  A  few  words  passed  between 
them,  and  then  the  thirteen  began  at  once  arming 
themselves,  some  with  wooden  clogs,  and  some 
with  the  knives  which  they  had  so  openly  con- 
cealed the  night  before.  At  the  sign  of  imminent 
battle,  all  those  not  actively  interested  scuttled 
away  to  right  and  left,  climbing  up  on  the  benches 
and  cots,  and  leaving  a  free  field  to  the  combatants. 

The  next  moment  would  have  brought  bloodshed. 

107 


Now  Myles,  thanks  to  the  training  of  the  Cros- 
bey-Dale  smith,  felt  tolerably  sure  that  in  a  wrest- 
ling bout  he  was  a  match — perhaps  more  than  a 
match — for  any  one  of  the  body  of  squires,  and 
he  had  determined,  if  possible,  to  bring  the  battle 
to  a  single-handed  encounter  upon  that  footing. 
Accordingly  he  suddenly  stepped  forward  before 
the  others. 

"  Look'ee,  fellow,"  he  called  to  Blunt,  "  thou  art 
he  who  struck  me  whilst  I  was  down  some  while 
since.  Wilt  thou  let  this  quarrel  stand  between 
thee  and  me,  and  meet  me  man  to  man  without 
weapon  ?  See,  I  throw  me  down  mine  own,  and 
will  meet  thee  with  bare  hands."  And  as  he 
spoke,  he  tossed  the  clog  he  held  in  his  hand 
back  upon  the  cot. 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Blunt,  with  great  readiness, 
tossing  down  a  similar  weapon  which  he  himself 
held. 

"  Do  not  go,  Myles,"  cried  Gascoyne,  "  he  is  a 
villain  and  a  traitor,  and  would  betray  thee  to  thy 
death.  I  saw  him  when  he  first  gat  from  bed 
hide  a  knife  in  his  doublet." 

"  Thou  liest  I"  said  Blunt.  "  I  swear,  by  my 
faith,  I  be  barehanded  as  ye  see  me  !  Thy  friend 
accuses  me,  Myles  Falworth,  because  he  knoweth 
thou  art  afraid  of  me." 

"  There  thou  liest  most  vilely!"  exclaimed  Myles. 

108 


"  Swear  that  thou  hast  no  knife,  and  I  will  meet 
thee." 

"  Hast  thou  not  heard  me  say  that  I  have  no 
knife  ?"  said  Blunt.  "  What  more  wouldst  thou 
have  ?" 

"  Then  I  will  meet  thee  half-way,"  said  Myles. 

Gascoyne  caught  him  by  the  sleeve,  and  would 
have  withheld  him,  assuring  him  that  he  had  seen 
the  bachelor  conceal  a  knife.  But  Myles,  hot  for 
the  fight,  broke  away  from  his  friend  without  lis* 
tening  to  him. 

As  the  two  advanced  steadily  towards  one  an* 
other  a  breathless  silence  fell  upon  the  dormitory 
in  sharp  contrast  to  the  uproar  and  confusion 
that  had  filled  it  a  moment  before.  The  lads, 
standing  some  upon  benches,  some  upon  beds, 
all  watched  with  breathless  interest  the  meeting 
of  the  two  champions. 

As  they  approached  one  another  they  stopped 
and  stood  for  a  moment  a  little  apart,  glaring  the 
one  upon  the  other.  They  seemed  ill  enough 
matched ;  Blunt  was  fully  half  a  head  taller  than 
Myles,  and  was  thick-set  and  close-knit  in  young 
manhood.  Nothing  but  Myles's  undaunted  pluck 
could  have  led  him  to  dare  to  face  an  enemy  so 
much  older  and  stouter  than  himself. 

The  pause  was  only  for  a  moment.  They  who 
looked  saw  Blunt  slide  his  hand  furtively  towards 

ioq 


his  bosom.  Myles  saw  too,  and  in  the  flash  of  an 
instant  knew  what  the  gesture  meant,  and  sprang 
upon  the  other  before  the  hand  could  grasp  what 
it  sought.  As  he  clutched  his  enemy  he  felt 
what  he  had  in  that  instant  expected  to  feel — the 
handle  of  a  dagger.  The  next  moment  he  cried, 
in  a  loud  voice : 

"  Oh,  thou  villain  !  Help,  Gascoyne !  He  hath 
a  knife  under  his  doublet  S" 

In  answer  to  his  cry  for  help,  Myles's  friends 
started  to  his  aid.  But  the  bachelors  shouted, 
"  Stand  back  and  let  them  fight  it  out  alone,  else 
we  will  knife  ye  too."  And  as  they  spoke,  some 
of  them  leaped  from  the  benches  whereon  they 
stood,  drawing  their  knives  and  flourishing  them. 

For  just  a  few  seconds  Myles's  friends  stood 
cowed,  and  in  those  few  seconds  the  fight  came 
to  an  end  with  a  suddenness  unexpected  to  all. 

A  struggle  fierce  and  silent  followed  between 
the  two;  Blunt  striving  to  draw  his  knife,  and 
Myles,  with  the  energy  of  despair,  holding  him 
tightly  by  the  wrist.  It  was  in  vain  the  elder  lad 
writhed  and  twisted ;  he  was  strong  enough  to 
overbear  Myles,  but  still  was  not  able  to  clutch 
the  haft  of  his  knife. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  draw  it !"  gasped  Myles  at 
last.     "  Thou  shalt  not  stab  me  !" 

Then  again  some  of  his  friends  started  forward 


to  his  aid,  but  they  were  not  needed,  for  before 
they  came,  the  fight  was  over. 

Blunt,  finding  that  he  was  not  able  to  draw  the 
weapon,  suddenly  ceased  his  endeavors,  and  flung 
his  arms  around  Myles,  trying  to  bear  him  down 
upon  the  ground,  and  in  that  moment  his  battle 
was  lost. 

In  an  instant — so  quick,  so  sudden,  so  unex- 
pected that  no  one  could  see  how  it  happened — 
his  feet  were  whirled  away  from  under  him,  he 
spun  with  flying  arms  across  Myles's  loins,  and 
pitched  with  a  thud  upon  the  stone  pavement, 
where  he  lay  still,  motionless,  while  Myles,  his 
face  white  with  passion  and  his  eyes  gleaming, 
stood  glaring  around  like  a  young  wild -boar 
beset  by  the  dogs. 

The  next  moment  the  silence  was  broken,  and 
the  uproar  broke  forth  with  redoubled  violence. 
The  bachelors,  leaping  from  the  benches,  came 
hurrying  forward  on  one  side,  and  Myles's  friends 
from  the  other. 

"  Thou  shalt  smart  for  this,  Falworth,"  said 
one  of  the  older  lads.  "  Belike  thou  hast  slain 
him !" 

Myles  turned  upon  the  speaker  like  a  flash,  and 
with  such  a  passion  of  fury  in  his  face  that  the 
other,  a  fellow  nearly  a  head  taller  than  he,  shrank 
back,  cowed  in  spite  of  himself.     Then  Gascoyne 


in 


eame  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoul- 
der. 

"  Who  touches  me  ?"  cried  Myles,  hoarsely, 
turning  sharply  upon  him ;  and  then,  seeing 
who  it  was,  "  Oh,  Francis,  they  would  ha'  killed 
me!" 

"  Come  away,  Myles,"  said  Gascoyne ;  "  thou 
knowest  not  what  thou  doest ;  thou  art  mad ; 
come  away.     What  if  thou  hadst  killed  him  ?" 

The  words  called  Myles  somewhat  to  himself. 
1  I  care  not !"  said  he,  but  sullenly  and  not  pas- 
sionately, and  then  he  suffered  Gascoyne  and 
Wilkes  to  lead  him  away. 

Meantime  Blunt's  friends  had  turned  him  over, 
and,  after  feeling  his  temples,  his  wrist,  and  his 
heart,  bore  him  away  to  a  bench  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room.  There  they  fell  to  chafing  his  hands 
and  sprinkling  water  in  his  face,  a  crowd  of  the 
others  gathering  about.  Blunt  was  hidden  from 
Myles  by  those  who  stood  around,  and  the  lad 
listened  to  the  broken  talk  that  filled  the  room 
with  its  confusion,  his  anxiety  growing  keener  as 
he  became  cooler.  But  at  last,  with  a  heartfelt 
joy,  he  gathered  from  the  confused  buzz  of  words 
that  the  other  lad  had  opened  his  eyes  and,  after 
a  while,  he  saw  him  sit  up,  leaning  his  head  upon 
the  shoulder  of  one  of  his  fellow-bachelors,  white 
and  faint  and  sick  as  death. 


'They  bore  him  aicay  to  a  bench  at  the  far  end  of  the  room' 


"  Thank  Heaven  that  thou  didst  not  kill  him !" 
said  Edmond  Wilkes,  who  had  been  standing  with 
the  crowd  looking  on  at  the  efforts  of  Blunt's 
friends  to  revive  him,  and  who  had  now  come  and 
sat  down  upon  the  bed  not  far  from  Myles. 

"  Aye,"  said  Myles,  gruffly,  "  I  do  thank  Heav- 
en for  that." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

If  Myles  fancied  that  one  single  victory  over 
his  enemy  would  cure  the  evil  against  which  he 
fought,  he  was  grievously  mistaken ;  wrongs  are 
not  righted  so  easily  as  that.  It  was  only  the  be- 
ginning. Other  and  far  more  bitter  battles  lay 
before  him  ere  he  could  look  around  him  and 
say,  "  I  have  won  the  victory." 

For  a  day — for  two  days — the  bachelors  were 
demoralized  at  the  fall  of  their  leader,  and  the 
Knights  of  the  Rose  were  proportionately  up- 
lifted. 

The  day  that  Blunt  met  his  fall,  the  wooden 
tank  in  which  the  water  had  been  poured  every 
morning  was  found  to  have  been  taken  away. 
The  bachelors  made  a  great  show  of  indignation 
and  inquiry.  Who  was  it  stole  their  tank  ?  If 
they  did  but  know,  he  should  smart  for  it. 

"  Ho!  ho !"  roared  Edmond  Wilkes,  so  that  the 

whole  dormitory  heard  him,  "  smoke  ye  not  their 

tricks,  lads  ?     See  ye  not  that  they  have  stolen 

114 


their  own  water -tank,  so  that  they  might  have 
no  need  for  another  fight  over  the  carrying  of 
the  water?" 

The  bachelors  made  an  obvious  show  of  not 
having  heard  what  he  said,  and  a  general  laugh 
went  around.  No  one  doubted  that  Wilkes  had 
spoken  the  truth  in  his  taunt,  and  that  the  bache- 
lors had  indeed  stolen  their  own  tank.  So  no 
more  water  was  ever  carried  for  the  head  squires, 
but  it  was  plain  to  see  that  the  war  for  the  upper- 
hand  was  not  yet  over. 

Even  if  Myles  had  entertained  comforting 
thoughts  to  the  contrary,  he  was  speedily  unde- 
ceived. One  morning,  about  a  week  after  the 
fight,  as  he  and  Gascoyne  were  crossing  the 
armory  court,  they  were  hailed  by  a  group  of 
the  bachelors  standing  at  the  stone  steps  of  the 
great  building. 

"  Holloa,  Falworth !"  they  cried.  "  Knowest 
thou  that  Blunt  is  nigh  well  again?" 

"Nay,"  said  Myles;  "I  knew  it  not.  But  I 
am  right  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  Thou  wilt  sing  a  different  song  anon,"  said 
one  of  the  bachelors.  "  I  tell  thee  he  is  hot 
against  thee,  and  swears  when  he  cometh  again 
he  will  carve  thee  soothly." 

"  Aye,  marry!"  said  another.  "  I  would  not  be 
in  thy  skin  a  week  hence  for  a  ducat !     Only  this 

"5 


morning  he  told  Philip  Mowbray  that  he  would 
have  thy  blood  for  the  fall  thou  gavest  him. 
Look  to  thyself,  Fal worth;  he  cometh  again 
Wednesday  or  Thursday  next;  thou  standest 
in  a  parlous  state." 

"  Myles,"  said  Gascoyne,  as  they  entered  the 
great  quadrangle,  "  I  do  indeed  fear  me  that  he 
meaneth  to  do  thee  evil." 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Myles,  boldly ;  "  but  I  fear 
him  not."  Nevertheless  his  heart  was  heavy 
with  the  weight  of  impending  ill. 

One  evening  the  bachelors  were  more  than 
usually  noisy  in  their  end  of  the  dormitory,  laugh- 
ing and  talking  and  shouting  to  one  another. 

"  Holloa,  you  sirrah,  Falworth !"  called  one  of 
them  along  the  length  of  the  room.  "  Blunt 
cometh  again  to-morrow  day." 

Myles  saw  Gascoyne  direct  a  sharp  glance  at 
him ;  but  he  answered  nothing  either  to  his  ene- 
my's words  or  his  friend's  look. 

As  the  bachelor  had  said,  Blunt  came  the  next 
morning.  It  was  just  after  chapel,  and  the  whole 
body  of  squires  was  gathered  in  the  armory  wait- 
ing for  the  orders  of  the  day  and  the  calling  of 
the  roll  of  those  chosen  for  household  duty. 
Myles  was  sitting  on  a  bench  along  the  wall, 
talking  and  jesting  with  some  who  stood  by,  when 
of  a  sudden  his  heart  gave  a  great  leap  within  him. 

116 


It  was  Walter  Blunt.  He  came  walking  in  at 
the  door  as  if  nothing  had  passed,  and  at  his  un- 
expected coming  the  hubbub  of  talk  and  laughtei 
was  suddenly  checked.  Even  Myles  stopped  in 
his  speech  for  a  moment,  and  then  continued 
with  a  beating  heart  and  a  carelessness  of  man- 
ner that  was  altogether  assumed.  In  his  hand 
Blunt  carried  the  house  orders  for  the  day,  and 
without  seeming  to  notice  Myles,  he  opened  it 
and  read  the  list  of  those  called  upon  for  house- 
hold service. 

Myles  had  risen,  and  was  now  standing  listen- 
ing with  the  others.  When  Blunt  had  ended 
reading  the  list  of  names,  he  rolled  up  the  parch- 
ment, and  thrust  it  into  his  belt;  then  swinging 
suddenly  on  his  heel,  he  strode  straight  up  to 
Myles,  facing  him  front  to  front.  A  moment  or 
two  of  deep  silence  followed;  not  a  sound  broke 
the  stillness.  When  Blunt  spoke  every  one  in 
the  armory  heard  his  words. 

"  Sirrah !"  said  he,  "  thou  didst  put  foul  shame 
upon  me  some  time  sin.  Never  will  I  forget  or 
forgive  that  offence,  and  will  have  a  reckoning 
with  thee  right  soon  that  thou  wilt  not  forget  to 
the  last  day  of  thy  life." 

When  Myles  had  seen  his  enemy  turn  upon 
him,  he  did  not  know  at  first  what  to  expect;  he 
would  not  have  been  surprised  had  they  come  to 

117. 


blows  there  and  then,  and  he  held  himself  pre? 
pared  for  any  event.  He  faced  the  other  pluckily 
enough  and  without  flinching,  and  spoke  up  bold 
ly  in  answer.  "  So  be  it,  Walter  Blunt;  I  fear  thee 
not  in  whatever  way  thou  mayst  encounter  me.'! 

"  Dost  thou  not  ?"  said  Blunt.  "  By  'r  Lady, 
thou'lt  have  cause  to  fear  me  ere  I  am  through 
with  thee."  He  smiled  a  baleful,  lingering  smile, 
and  then  turned  slowly  and  walked  away. 

"  What  thinkest  thou,  Myles  ?"  said  Gascoyne, 
as  the  two  left  the  armory  together. 

"  I  think  naught,"  said  Myles,  gruffly.  "  He 
will  not  dare  to  touch  me  to  harm  me.  I  fear 
him  not."  Nevertheless,  he  did  not  speak  the 
full  feelings  of  his  heart. 

"  I  know  not,  Myles,"  said  Gascoyne,  shaking 
his  head  doubtfully.  "Walter  Blunt  is  a  parlous 
evil-minded  knave,  and  methinks  will  do  what- 
ever evil  he  promiseth." 

"  I  fear  him  not,"  said  Myles  again ;  but  his 
heart  foreboded  trouble. 

The  coming  of  the  head  squire  made  a  very 
great  change  in  the  condition  of  affairs.  Even 
before  that  coming  the  bachelors  had  somewhat 
recovered  from  their  demoralization,  and  now 
again  they  began  to  pluck  up  their  confidence 
and  to  order  the  younger  squires  and  pages 
upon  this  personal  service  or  upon  that. 


118 


"See  ye  not,"  said  Myles  one  day,  when  the 
Knights  of  the  Rose  were  gathered  in  the  Brutus 
Tower — "see  ye  not  that  they  grow  as  bad  as 
ever?  An  we  put  not  a  stop  to  this  overmastery 
now,  it  will  never  stop." 

"  Best  let  it  be,  Myles,"  said  Wilkes.  "  They 
will  kill  thee  an  thou  cease  not  troubling  them. 
Thou  hast  bred  mischief  enow  for  thyself  al- 
ready." 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  said  Myles ;  "  it  is  not  to 
be  borne  that  they  order  others  of  us  about  as 
they  do.  I  mean  to  speak  to  them  to-night,  and 
tell  them  it  shall  not  be." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  That  night,  as 
the  youngsters  were  shouting  and  romping  and 
skylarking,  as  they  always  did  before  turning  in, 
he  stood  upon  his  cot  and  shouted :  "  Silence ! 
List  to  me  a  little !"  And  then,  in  the  hush  that 
followed — "  I  want  those  bachelors  to  hear  this : 
that  we  squires  serve  them  no  longer,  and  if 
they  would  ha'  some  to  wait  upon  them,  they 
must  get  them  otherwheres  than  here.  There 
be  twenty  of  us  to  stand  against  them  and  haply 
more,  and  we  mean  that  they  shall  ha'  service  of 
us  no  more." 

Then  he  jumped  down  again  from  his  elevated 

stand,  and  an  uproar  of  confusion  instantly  filled 

the  place.     What  was  the  effect  of  his  words 

119 


upon  the  bachelors  he  could  not  see.  What  was 
the  result  he  was  not  slow  in  discovering. 

The  next  day  Myles  and  Gascoyne  were  throw- 
ing their  daggers  for  a  wager  at  a  wooden  target 
against  the  wall  back  of  the  armorer's  smithy. 
Wilkes,  Gosse,  and  one  or  two  others  of  the 
squires  were  sitting  on  a  bench  looking  on,  and 
now  and  then  applauding  a  more  than  usually 
well-aimed  cast  of  the  knife.  Suddenly  that  imp- 
ish little  page  spoken  of  before,  Robin  Ingoldsby, 
thrust  his  shock  head  around  the  corner  of  the 
smithy,  and  said : 

"  Ho,  Falworth !  Blunt  is  going  to  serve  thee 
out  to-day,  and  I  myself  heard  him  say  so.  He 
says  he  is  going  to  slit  thine  ears."  And  then 
he  was  gone  as  suddenly  as  he  had  appeared. 

Myles  darted  after  him,  caught  him  midway  in 
the  quadrangle,  and  brought  him  back  by  the 
scuff  of  the  neck,  squalling  and  struggling. 

"  There !"  said  he,  still  panting  from  the  chase, 
and  seating  the  boy  by  no  means  gently  upon 
the  bench  beside  Wilkes.  "  Sit  thou  there,  thou 
imp  of  evil !  And  now  tell  me  what  thou  didst 
mean  by  thy  words  anon — an  thou  stop  not 
thine  outcry,  I  will  cut  thy  throat  for  thee  ;"  and 
he  made  a  ferocious  gesture  with  his  dagger. 

It  was  by  no  means  easy  to  worm  the  story 
from  the  mischievous  little  monkey;    he  knew 


Myles  too  well  to  be  in  the  least  afraid  of  his 
threats.  But  at  last,  by  dint  of  bribing  and  coax- 
ing, Myles  and  his  friends  managed  to  get  at  the 
facts.  The  youngster  had  been  sent  to  clean  the 
riding-boots  of  one  of  the  bachelors,  instead  of 
which  he  had  lolled  idly  on  a  cot  in  the  dormi- 
tory, until  he  had  at  last  fallen  asleep.  He  had 
been  awakened  by  the  opening  of  the  dormitory 
door,  and  by  the  sound  of  voices — among  them 
was  that  of  his  taskmaster.  Fearing  punishment 
for  his  neglected  duty,  he  had  slipped  out  of  the 
cot,  and  hidden  himself  beneath  it. 

Those  who  had  entered  were  Walter  Blunt  and 
three  of  the  older  bachelors.  Blunt's  companions 
were  trying  to  persuade  him  against  something, 
but  without  avail.  It  was — Myles's  heart  thrilled 
and  his  blood  boiled  —  to  lie  in  wait  for  him,  to 
overpower  him  by  numbers,  and  to  mutilate  him 
by  slitting  his  ears — a  disgraceful  punishment 
administered,  as  a  rule,  only  for  thieving  and 
poaching. 

"  He  would  not  dare  to  do  such  a  thing!"  cried 
Myles,  with  heaving  breast  and  flashing  eyes. 

"  Aye,  but  he  would,"  said  Gascoyne.  "  His 
father,  Lord  Reginald  Blunt,  is  a  great  man  over 
Nottingham  way,  and  my  Lord  would  not  dare 
to  punish  him  even  for  such  a  matter  as  that. 
But  tell  me,  Robin  Ingoldsby,  dost  know  aught 


121 


more  of  this  matter?  Prithee  tell  it  me,  Robin. 
Where  do  they  propose  to  lie  in  wait  for  Fal- 
worth  ?" 

"In  the  gate- way  of  the  Buttery  Court,  so  as  to 
catch  him  when  he  passes  by  to  the  armory," 
answered  the  boy. 

"  Are  they  there  now  ?"  said  Wilkes. 

"  Aye,  nine  of  them,"  said  Robin.  "  I  heard 
Blunt  tell  Mowbray  to  go  and  gather  the  others. 
He  heard  thee  tell  Gosse,  Falworth,  that  thou 
wert  going  thither  for  thy  arbalist  this  morn  to 
shoot  at  the  rooks  withal." 

"That  will  do,  Robin,"  said  Myles.  "Thou 
mayst  go." 

And  therewith  the  little  imp  scurried  off,  pull- 
ing the  lobes  of  his  ears  suggestively  as  he  darted 
around  the  corner. 

The  others  looked  at  one  another  for  a  whil  > 
in  silence. 

"  So,  comrades,"  said  Myles  at  last,  "what  shall 
we  do  now?" 

"  Go,  and  tell  Sir  James,"  said  Gascoyne, 
promptly. 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles ;  "  I  take  no  such  coward's 
part  as  that.  I  say  an  they  hunger  to  fight,  give, 
them  their  stomachful." 

The  others  were  very  reluctant  for  such  ex- 
treme measures,  but  Myles,  as  usual,  carried  his 


X22 


;^-IM     1 


way,  and  so  a  pitched  battle  was  decided  upon. 
It  was  Gascoyne  who  suggested  the  plan  which 
they  afterwards  followed. 

Then  Wilkes  started  away  to  gather  together 
those  of  the  Knights  of  the  Rose  not  upon  house- 
hold duty,  and  Myles,  with  the  others,  went  to 
the  armor  smith  to  have  him  make  for  them  a 
set  of  knives  with  which  to  meet  their  enemies 
— knives  with  blades  a  foot  long,  pointed  and 
double-edged. 

The  smith,  leaning  with  his  hammer  upon  the 
anvil,  listened  to  them  as  they  described  the 
weapons. 

"  Nay,  nay,  Master  Myles,"  said  he,  when  Myles 
had  ended  by  telling  the  use  to  which  he  intend- 
ed putting  them.  "  Thou  art  going  all  wrong  in 
this  matter.  With  such  blades,  ere  this  battle  is 
ended,  some  one  would  be  slain,  and  so  murder 
done.  Then  the  family  of  him  who  was  killed 
would  haply  have  ye  cited,  and  mayhap  it  might 
e'en  come  to  the  hanging,  for  some  of  they  boys 
ha'  great  folkeys  behind  them.  Go  ye  to  Tom 
Fletcher,  Master  Myles,  and  buy  of  him  good 
yew  staves,  such  as  one  might  break  a  head 
withal,  and  with  them,  gin  ye  keep  your  wits, 
ye  may  hold  your  own  against  knives  or  short 
swords.  I  tell  thee,  e'en  though  my  trade  be 
making  of   blades,  rather   would    I    ha'  a  good 

12? 


stout  cudgel  in  my  hand  than  the  best  dagger 
that  ever  was  forged. 

Myles  stood  thoughtfully  for  a  moment  or  two; 
then,  looking  up,  "  Methinks  thou  speaketh  truly, 
Robin,"  said  he ;  "  and  it  were  ill  done  to  have 
blood  upon  our  hands." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

From  the  long,  narrow  stone -paved  Armory 
Court,  and  connecting  it  with  the  inner  Buttery 
Court,  ran  a  narrow  arched  passage-way,  in  which 
was  a  picket -gate,  closed  at  night  and  locked 
from  within.  It  was  in  this  arched  passage-way 
that,  according  to  little  Robert  Ingoldsby's  re- 
port, the  bachelors  were  lying  in  wait  for  Myles. 
Gascoyne's  plan  was  that  Myles  should  enter  the 
court  alone,  the  Knights  of  the  Rose  lying  am- 
bushed behind  the  angle  of  the  armory  building 
until  the  bachelors  should  show  themselves. 

It  was  not  without  trepidation  that  Myles 
walked  alone  into  the  court,  which  happened 
then  to  be  silent  and  empty.  His  heart  beat 
more  quickly  than  it  was  wont,  and  he  gripped 
his  cudgel  behind  his  back,  looking  sharply  this 
way  and  that,  so  as  not  to  be  taken  unawares  by 
a  flank  movement  of  his  enemies.  Midway  in 
the  court  he  stopped  and  hesitated  for  a  moment; 
then  he  turned  as  though  to  enter  the  armory. 

125 


The  next  moment  he  saw  the  bachelors  come 
pouring  out  from  the  archway. 

Instantly  he  turned  and  rushed  back  towards 
where  his  friends  lay  hidden,  shouting :  "  To  the 
rescue  !     To  the  rescue  !" 

"  Stone  him !"  roared  Blunt.  "  The  villain  es- 
capes !" 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  a  cobble-stone  as 
he  spoke,  flinging  it  after  his  escaping  prey.  It 
narrowly  missed  Myles's  head;  had  it  struck 
him,  there  might  have  been  no  more  of  this  story 
to  tell. 

"  To  the  rescue !  To  the  rescue !"  shouted 
Myles's  friends  in  answer,  and  the  next  moment 
he  was  surrounded  by  them.  Then  he  turned, 
and  swinging  his  cudgel,  rushed  back  upon  his 
foes. 

The  bachelors  stopped  short  at  the  unexpect- 
ed sight  of  the  lads  with  their  cudgels.  For  a 
moment  they  rallied  and  drew  their  knives ;  then 
they  turned  and  fled  towards  their  former  place 
of  hiding. 

One  of  them  turned  for  a  moment,  and  flung 

his  knife  at  Myles  with  a  deadly  aim ;  but  Myles, 

quick  as  a  cat,  ducked  his  body,  and  the  weapon 

flew  clattering  across  the  stony  court.     Then  he 

who  had  flung  it  turned  again  to  fly,  but  in  his 

attempt  he  had  delayed  one   instant  too  long. 

126 


Myles  reached  him  with  a  long-arm  stroke  of  his 
cudgel  just  as  he  entered  the  passage-way,  knock- 
ing him  over  like  a  bottle,  stunned  and  senseless. 

The  next  moment  the  picket-gate  was  banged 
in  their  faces  and  the  bolt  shot  in  the  staples, 
and  the  Knights  of  the  Rose  were  left  shout- 
ing and  battering  with  their  cudgels  against  the 
palings. 

By  this  time  the  uproar  of  fight  had  aroused 
those  in  the  rooms  and  offices  fronting  upon  the 
Armory  Court ;  heads  were  thrust  from  many  of 
the  windows  with  the  eager  interest  that  a  fight 
always  evokes. 

"  Beware  !"  shouted  Myles.  "  Here  they  come 
Again !"  He  bore  back  towards  the  entrance  of 
the  alley-way  as  he  spoke,  those  behind  him  scat- 
tering to  right  and  left,  for  the  bachelors  had 
rallied,  and  were  coming  again  to  the  attack, 
shouting. 

They  were  not  a  moment  too  soon  in  this  re- 
treat, either,  for  the  next  instant  the  pickets  flew 
open,  and  a  volley  of  stones  flew  after  the  retreat- 
ing Knights  of  the  Rose.  One  smote  Wilkes 
upon  the  head,  knocking  him  down  headlong. 
Another  struck  Myles  upon  his  left  shoulder, 
benumbing  his  arm  from  the  finger-tips  to  the 
armpit,  so  that  he  thought  at  first  the  limb  was 
broken. 

127 


"  Get  ye  behind  the  buttresses  !"  shouted  those 
who  looked  down  upon  the  fight  from  the  win- 
dows— "  get  ye  behind  the  buttresses  !"  And  in 
answer  the  lads,  scattering  like  a  newly-flushed 
covey  of  partridges,  fled  to  and  crouched  in  the 
sheltering  angles  of  masonry  to  escape  from  the 
flying  stones. 

And  now  followed  a  lull  in  the  battle,  the  bach- 
elors fearing  to  leave  the  protection  of  the  arched 
passage-way  lest  their  retreat  should  be  cut  off, 
and  the  Knights  of  the  Rose  not  daring  to  quit 
the  shelter  of  the  buttresses  and  angles  of  the  wall 
lest  they  should  be  knocked  down  by  the  stones. 

The  bachelor  whom  Myles  had  struck  down 
with  his  cudgel  was  sitting  up  rubbing  the  back 
of  his  head,  and  Wilkes  had  gathered  his  wits 
enough  to  crawl  to  the  shelter  of  the  nearest  but- 
tress. Myles,  peeping  around  the  corner  behind 
which  he  stood,  could  see  that  the  bachelors  were 
gathered  into  a  little  group  consulting  togeth- 
er. Suddenly  it  broke  asunder,  and  Blunt  turned 
around. 

"  Ho,  Falworth  !"  he  cried.  "  Wilt  thou  hold 
truce  whiles  we  parley  with  ye  ?" 

"  Aye,"  answered  Myles. 

"  Wilt  thou  give  me  thine  honor  that  ye  will 
hold  your  hands  from  harming  us  whiles  we  talk 
together  ?" 


128 


"  Yea,"  said  Myles,  "  I  will  pledge  thee  mine 
honor." 

"I  accept  thy  pledge.  See!  here  we  throw 
aside  our  stones  and  lay  down  our  knives.  Lay 
ye  by  your  clubs,  and  meet  us  in  parley  at  the 
horse-block  )>-onder." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Myles,  and  thereupon,  stand- 
ing his  cudgel  in  the  angle  of  the  wall,  he  step- 
ped boldly  out  into  the  open  court-yard.  Those 
of  his  party  came  scatteringly  from  right  and  left, 
gathering  about  him ;  and  the  bachelors  advanced 
in  a  body,  led  by  the  head  squire. 

"  Now  what  is  it  thou  wouldst  have,  Walter 
Blunt?"  said  Myles,  when  both  parties  had  met 
at  the  horse-block. 

"It  is  to  say  this  to  thee,  Myles  Fal worth," 
said  the  other.  "  One  time,  not  long  sin,  thou 
didst  challenge  me  to  meet  thee  hand  to  hand  in 
the  dormitory.  Then  thou  didst  put  a  vile  af- 
front upon  me,  for  the  which  I  ha'  brought  on 
this  battle  to-day,  for  K  knew  not  then  that  thou 
wert  going  to  try  thy  peasant  tricks  of  wrestling, 
and  so,  without  guarding  myself,  I  met  thee  as 
thou  didst  desire." 

"  But   thou   hadst  thy  knife,  and  would   have 

stabbed  him  couldst  thou  ha'  done  so,"  said  Gas- 

coyne. 

"  Thou  liest !"  said  Blunt.     "  I  had  no  knife." 
i  129 


And  then,  without  giving  time  to  answer,  "  Thou 
canst  not  deny  that  I  met  thee  then  at  thy  bid- 
ding, canst  thou,  Falworth  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  "nor  haply  canst  thou  deny 
it  either."  And  at  this  covert  reminder  of  his 
defeat  Myles's  followers  laughed  scoffingly  and 
Blunt  bit  his  lip. 

"Thou  hast  said  it," said  he.  "Then  sin  I  met 
thee  at  thy  bidding,  I  dare  thee  to  meet  me  now 
at  mine,  and  to  fight  this  battle  out  between  our 
two  selves,  with  sword  and  buckler  and  bascinet 
as  gentles  should,  and  not  in  a  wrestling  match 
like  two  country  hodges." 

"Thou  art  a  coward  caitiff, Walter  Blunt !"  burst 
out  Wilkes,  who  stood  by  with  a  swelling  lump 
upon  his  head,  already  as  big  as  a  walnut.  "  Well 
thou  knowest  that  Falworth  is  no  match  for  thee 
at  broadsword  play.  Is  he  not  four  years  younger 
than  thou,  and  hast  thou  not  had  three  times  the 
practice  in  arms  that  he  hath  had  ?  I  say  thou 
art  a  coward  to  seek  to  fight  with  cutting  weapons." 

Blunt  made  no  answer  to  Wilkes's  speech,  but 
gazed  steadfastly  at  Myles,  with  a  scornful  smile 
curling  the  corners  of  his  lips.  Myles  stood  look- 
ing upon  the  ground  without  once  lifting  his 
eyes,  not  knowing  what  to  answer,  for  he  was  well 
aware  that  he  was  no  match  for  Blunt  with  the 

broadsword. 

130 


"  Thou  art  afraid  to  fight  me,  Myles  Falworth," 
said  Blunt,  tauntingly,  and  the  bachelors  gave  a 
jeering  laugh  in  echo. 

Then  Myles  looked  up,  and  I  cannot  say  that 
his  face  was  not  a  trifle  whiter  than  usual.  "  Nay," 
said  he,  "  I  am  not  afraid,  and  I  will  fight  thee, 
Blunt." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Blunt.  "  Then  let  us  go  at  it 
straightway  in  the  armory  yonder,  for  they  be  at 
dinner  in  the  Great  Hall,  and  just  now  there  be'st 
no  one  by  to  stay  us." 

"  Thou  shalt  not  fight  him,  Myles !"  burst  out 
Gascoyne.  "  He  will  murther  thee !  Thou  shalt 
not  fight  him,  I  say!" 

Myles  turned  away  without  answering  him. 

"What  is  to  do  ?"  called  one  of  those  who  were 
still  looking  out  of  the  windows  as  the  crowd  of 
boys  passed  beneath. 

"  Blunt  and  Falworth  are  going  to  fight  it  out 
hand  to  hand  in  the  armory,"  answered  one  of 
the  bachelors,  looking  up. 

The  brawling  of  the  squires  was  a  jest  to  all 
the  adjoining  part  of  the  house.  So  the  heads 
were  withdrawn  again,  some  laughing  at  the 
"  sparring  of  the  cockerels." 

But  it  was  no  jesting  matter  to  poor  Myles. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

I  have  no  intention  to  describe  the  fight  be- 
tween Myles  Falworth  and  Walter  Blunt.  Fisti- 
cuffs of  nowadays  are  brutal  and  debasing  enough, 
but  a  fight  with  a  sharp -edged  broadsword  was 
not  only  brutal  and  debasing,  but  cruel  and  bloody 
as  well. 

From  the  very  first  of  the  fight  Myles  Fal- 
worth was  palpably  and  obviously  overmatched. 
After  fifteen  minutes  had  passed,  Blunt  stood 
hale  and  sound  as  at  first;  but  poor  Myles  had 
more  than  one  red  stain  of  warm  blood  upon 
doublet  and  hose,  and  more  than  one  bandage  had 
been  wrapped  by  Gascoyne  and  Wilkes  about  sore 
wounds. 

He  had  received  no  serious  injury  as  yet,  for 
not  only  was  his  body  protected  by  a  buckler,  or 
small  oblong  shield,  which  he  carried  upon  his 
left  arm,  and  his  head  by  a  bascinet,  or  light  hel- 
met of    steel,  but  perhaps,  after   all,  Blunt  was 

not  over-anxious  to  do  him  any  dangerous  harm. 

132 


Nevertheless,  there  could  be  but  one  opinion  as 
to  how  the  fight  tended,  and  Myles's  friends  were 
gloomy  and  downcast ;  the  bachelors  proportion- 
ately exultant,  shouting  with  laughter,  and  taunt- 
ing Myles  at  every  unsuccessful  stroke. 

Once,  as  he  drew  back  panting,  leaning  upon 
Gascoyne's  shoulder,  the  faithful  friend  whispered, 
with  trembling  lips :  "  Oh,  dear  Myles,  carry  it  no 
further.  Thou  hurtest  him  not,  and  he  will  slay 
thee  ere  he  have  done  with  thee." 

Thereupon  Blunt,  who  caught  the  drift  of  the 
speech,  put  in  a  word.  "  Thou  art  sore  hurt, 
Myles  Falworth,"  said  he,  "  and  I  would  do  thee 
no  grievous  harm.  Yield  thee  and  own  thyself 
beaten,  and  I  will  forgive  thee.  Thou  hast  fought 
a  good  fight,  and  there  is  no  shame  in  yielding 
now." 

"  Never !"  cried  Myles,  hoarsely — "  never  will  I 
yield  me !  Thou  mayst  slay  me,  Walter  Blunt, 
and  I  reck  not  if  thou  dost  do  so,  but  never  else 
wilt  thou  conquer  me." 

There  was  a  tone  of  desperation  in  his  voice 
that  made  all  look  serious. 

"  Nay,"  said  Blunt ;  "  I  will  fight  thee  no  more, 
Myles  Falworth ;  thou  hast  had  enough." 

"  By  heavens  !"  cried  Myles,  grinding  his  teeth, 
"  thou  shalt  fight  me,  thou  coward !  Thou  hast 
brought  this  fight  upon  us,  and  either  thou  or  I 

133 


get  our  quittance  here.  Let  go,  Gascoyne !"  he 
cried,  shaking  loose  his  friend's  hold ;  "  I  tell  thee 
he  shall  fight  me!" 

From  that  moment  Blunt  began  to  lose  his 
head.  No  doubt  he  had  not  thought  of  such  a 
serious  fight  as  this  when  he  had  given  his  chal- 
lenge, and  there  was  a  savage  bull -dog  tenacity 
about  Myles  that  could  not  but  have  had  a  some- 
what demoralizing  effect  upon  him. 

A  few  blows  were  given  and  taken,  and  then 
Myles's  friends  gave  a  shout.  Blunt  drew  back, 
and  placed  his  hand  to  his  shoulder.  When  he 
drew  it  away  again  it  was  stained  with  red,  and 
another  red  stain  grew  and  spread  rapidly  down 
the  sleeve  of  his  jacket.  He  stared  at  his  hand 
for  a  moment  with  a  half -dazed  look,  and  then 
glanced  quickly  to  right  and  left. 

"  I  will  fight  no  more,"  said  he,  sullenly. 

"  Then  yield  thee !"  cried  Myles,  exultantly. 

The  triumphant  shouts  of  the  Knights  of  the 
Rose  stung  Blunt  like  a  lash,  and  the  battle  be- 
gan again.  Perhaps  some  of  the  older  lads  were 
of  a  mind  to  interfere  at  this  point,  certainly 
some  looked  very  serious,  but  before  they  inter- 
posed, the  fight  was  ended. 

Blunt,  grinding  his  teeth,  struck  one  undercut 
at  his  opponent — the  same  undercut  that  Myles 
had  that  time  struck  at  Sir  James  Lee  at  the 

134 


knight's  bidding  when  he  first  practised  at  the 
Devlen  pels.  Myles  met  the  blow  as  Sir  James 
had  met  the  blow  that  he  had  given,  and  then 
struck  in  return  as  Sir  James  had  struck — full 
and  true.  The  bascinet  that  Blunt  wore  glanced 
the  blow  partly,  but  not  entirely.  Myles  felt  his 
sword  bite  through  the  light  steel  cap,  and  Blunt 
dropped  his  own  blade  clattering  upon  the  floor. 
It  was  all  over  in  an  instant,  but  in  that  instant 
what  he  saw  was  stamped  upon  Myles's  mind 
with  an  indelible  imprint.  He  saw  the  young 
man  stagger  backward ;  he  saw  the  eyes  roll  up- 
ward; and  a  red  streak  shoot  out  from  under  the 
cap  and  run  down  across  the  cheek. 

Blunt  reeled  half  around,  and  then  fell  pros- 
trate upon  his  face ;  and  Myles  stood  staring  at 
him  with  the  delirious  turmoil  of  his  battle  dis- 
solving rapidly  into  a  dumb  fear  at  that  which  he 
had  done. 

Once  again  he  had  won  the  victory — but  what 
a  victory!  "Is  he  dead?"  he  whispered  to  Gas- 
coyne. 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Gascoyne,  with  a  very  pale 
face.  "  But  come  away,  Myles."  And  he  led  his 
friend  out  of  the  room. 

Some  little  while  later  one  of  the  bachelors 
came  to  the  dormitory  where  Myles,  his  wounds 
smarting  and  aching  and  throbbing,  lay  stretched 

135 


upon  his  cot,  and  with  a  very  serious  face  bade 
him  to  go  presently  to  Sir  James,  who  had  just 
come  from  dinner,  and  was  then  in  his  office. 

By  this  time  Myles  knew  that  he  had  not  slain 
his  enemy,  and  his  heart  was  light  in  spite  of  the 
coming  interview.  There  was  no  one  in  the  of- 
fice but  Sir  James  and  himself,  and  Myles,  with- 
out concealing  anything,  told,  point  by  point,  the 
whole  trouble.  Sir  James  sat  looking  steadily  at 
him  for  a  while  after  he  had  ended. 

"  Never,"  said  he,  presently,  "  did  I  know  any 
one  of  ye  squires,  in  all  the  time  that  I  have  been 
here,  get  himself  into  so  many  broils  as  thou, 
Myles  Falworth.  Belike  thou  sought  to  take  this 
lad's  life." 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  earnestly ;  "  God  forbid !" 

"  Ne'theless,"  said  Sir  James,  "  thou  fetched  him 
a  main  shrewd  blow ;  and  it  is  by  good  hap,  and 
no  fault  of  thine,  that  he  will  live  to  do  more 
mischief  yet.  This  is  thy  second  venture  at  him; 
the  third  time,  haply,  thou  wilt  end  him  for  good." 
Then  suddenly  assuming  his  grimmest  and  stern- 
est manner:  "Now,  sirrah,  do  I  put  a  stop  to  this, 
and  no  more  shall  ye  fight  with  edged  tools.  Get 
thee  to  the  dormitory,  and  abide  there  a  full 
week  without  coming  forth.  Michael  shall  bring 
thee  bread  and  water  twice  a  day  for  that  time. 
That  is   all  the  food  thou  shalt  have,  and  we 


'Belike  thou  sought  to  take  this  lad's  life,'  said  Sir  James' 


will  see  if  that  fare  will  not  cool  thy  hot  humors 
withal." 

Myles  had  expected  a  punishment  so  much 
more  severe  than  that  which  was  thus  meted  to 
him,  that  in  the  sudden  relief  he  broke  into  a 
convulsive  laugh,  and  then,  with  a  hasty  sweep, 
wiped  a  brimming  moisture  from  his  eyes. 

Sir  James  looked  keenly  at  him  for  a  moment. 
"  Thou  art  white  i'  the  face,"  said  he.  "  Art  thou 
wounded  very  sorely?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  "  it  is  not  much ;  but  I  be 
sick  in  my  stomach." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  said  Sir  James  ;  "  I  know  that  feel- 
ing well.  It  is  thus  that  one  always  feeleth  in 
coming  out  from  a  sore  battle  when  one  hath  suf- 
fered wounds  and  lost  blood.  An  thou  wouldst 
keep  thyself  hale,  keep  thyself  from  needless 
fighting.  Now  go  thou  to  the  dormitory,  and,  as 
I  said,  come  thou  not  forth  again  for  a  week. 
Stay,  sirrah !"  he  added ;  "  I  will  send  George- 
barber  to  thee  to  look  to  thy  sores.  Green 
wounds  are  best  drawn  and  salved  ere  they  grow 
cold." 

I  wonder  what  Myles  would  have  thought  had 
he  known  that  so  soon  as  he  had  left  the  office, 
Sir  James  had  gone  straight  to  the  Earl  and  re- 
counted the  whole  matter  to  him,  with  a  deal  of 
dry  gusto,  and  that  the  Earl  listened  laughing. 


"  Aye,"  said  he,  when  Sir  James  had  done,  "the 
boy  hath  mettle,  sure.  Nevertheless,  we  must 
transplant  this  fellow  Blunt  to  the  office  of  gem 
tleman-in-waiting.  He  must  be  old  enough  now; 
and  gin  he  stayeth  in  his  present  place,  either  he 
will  do  the  boy  a  harm,  or  the  boy  will  do  him  a 
harm." 

So  Blunt  never  came  again  to  trouble  the 
squires'  quarters;  and  thereafter  the  youngsters 
rendered  no  more  service  to  the  elders. 

Myles's  first  great  fight  in  life  was  won. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  summer  passed  away,  and  the  bleak  fall 
came.  Myles  had  long  since  accepted  his  position 
as  one  set  apart  from  the  others  of  his  kind,  and 
had  resigned  himself  to  the  evident  fact  that  he 
was  never  to  serve  in  the  household  in  wait- 
ing upon  the  Earl.  I  cannot  say  that  it  never 
troubled  him,  but  in  time  there  came  a  compen- 
sation of  which  I  shall  have  presently  to  speak. 

And  then  he  had  so  much  the  more  time  to 
himself.  The  other  lads  were  sometimes  occu- 
pied by  their  household  duties  when  sports  were 
afoot  in  which  they  would  liked  to  have  taken 
part.  Myles  was  always  free  to  enter  into  any 
matter  of  the  kind  after  his  daily  exercise  had 
been  performed  at  the  pels,  the  butts,  or  the  tilt- 
ing-court. 

But  even  though  he  was  never  called  to  do 
service  in  "  my  Lord's  house,"  he  was  not  long 
in  gaining  a  sort  of  second-hand  knowledge  of 
all   the   family.     My  Lady,  a  thin,  sallow,  faded 

139 


dame,  not  yet  past  middle  age,  but  looking  ten 
years  older.  The  Lady  Anne,  the  daughter  of 
the  house ;  a  tall,  thin,  dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  hand- 
some young  dame  of  twenty  or  twenty-one  years 
of  age,  hawk-nosed  like  her  father,  and  silent, 
proud,  and  haughty,  Myles  heard  the  squires  say. 
Lady  Alice,  the  Earl  of  Mackworth's  niece  and 
ward,  a  great  heiress  in  her  own  right,  a  striking- 
ly pretty  black-eyed  girl  of  fourteen  or  fifteen. 

These  composed  the  Earl's  personal  family; 
but  besides  them  was  Lord  George  Beaumont, 
his  Earl's  brother,  and  him  Myles  soon  came 
to  know  better  than  any  of  the  chief  people  of 
the  castle  excepting  Sir  James  Lee. 

For  since  Myles's  great  battle  in  the  armory, 
Lord  George  had  taken  a  laughing  sort  of  liking 
to  the  lad,  encouraging  him  at  times  to  talk  of 
his  adventures,  and  of  his  hopes  and  aspirations. 

Perhaps  the  Earl's  younger  brother — who  was 
himself  somewhat  a  soldier  of  fortune,  having 
fought  in  Spain,  France,  and  Germany — felt  a 
certain  kinship  in  spirit  with  the  adventurous 
youngster  who  had  his  unfriended  way  to  make 
in  the  world.  However  that  might  have  been, 
Lord  George  was  very  kind  and  friendly  to  the 
lad,  and  the  willing  service  that  Myles  rendered 
him  reconciled  him  not  a  little  to  the  Earl's  ob- 
vious neglect. 

140 


Besides  these  of  the  more  immediate  family  of 
the  Earl  were  a  number  of  knights,  ladies,  and 
gentlemen,  some  of  them  cadets,  some  of  them 
retainers,  of  the  house  of  Beaumont,  for  the 
princely  nobles  of  those  days  lived  in  state  little 
less  royal  than  royalty  itself. 

Most  of  the  knights  and  gentlemen  Myles  soon 
came  to  know  by  sight,  meeting  them  in  Lord 
George's  apartments  in  the  south  wing  of  the 
great  house,  and  some  of  them,  following  the  lead 
of  Lord  George,  singled  him  out  for  friendly  no- 
tice, giving  him  a  nod  or  a  word  in  passing. 

Every  season  has  its  pleasures  for  boys,  and 
the  constant  change  that  they  bring  is  one  of  the 
greatest  delights  of  boyhood's  days. 

All  of  us,  as  we  grow  older,  have  in  our  mem- 
ory pictures  of  by-gone  times  that  are  somehow 
more  than  usually  vivid,  the  colors  of  some  not 
blurring  by  time  as  others  do.  One  of  which, 
in  remembering,  always  filled  Myles's  heart  in 
after-years  with  an  indefinable  pleasure,  was  the 
recollection  of  standing  with  others  of  his  fellow- 
squires  in  the  crisp  brown  autumn  grass  of  the 
paddock,  and  shooting  with  the  long-bow  at  wild- 
fowl, which,  when  the  east  wind  was  straining,  flew 
low  overhead  to  pitch  to  the  lake  in  the  forbid- 
den precincts  of  the  deer  park  beyond  the  brow 

141 


of  the  hill.  More  than  once  a  brace  or  two  of 
these  wild-fowl,  shot  in  their  southward  flight  by 
the  lads  and  cooked  by  fat,  good-natured  Mother 
Joan,  graced  the  rude  mess -table  of  the  squires 
in  the  long  hall,  and  even  the  toughest  and  fish- 
iest drake,  so  the  fruit  of  their  skill,  had  a  savor 
that,  somehow  or  other,  the  daintiest  fare  lacked 
in  after-years. 

Then  fall  passed  and  winter  came,  bleak,  cold, 
and  dreary — not  winter  as  we  know  it  nowadays, 
with  warm  fires  and  bright  lights  to  make  the 
long  nights  sweet  and  cheerful  with  comfort,  but 
winter  with  all  its  grimness  and  sternness.  In  the 
great  cold  stone-walled  castles  of  those  days  the 
only  fire  and  almost  the  only  light  were  those  from 
the  huge  blazing  logs  that  roared  and  crackled 
in  the  great  open  stone  fireplace,  around  which 
the  folks  gathered,  sheltering  their  faces  as  best 
they  could  from  the  scorching  heat,  and  cloaking 
their  shoulders  from  the  biting  cold,  for  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  where  giant  shadows 
swayed  and  bowed  and  danced  huge  and  black 
against  the  high  walls,  the  white  frost  glistened 
in  the  moonlight  on  the  stone  pavements,  and 
the  breath  went  up  like  smoke. 

In  those  days  were  no  books  to  read,  but  at 

the  best   only  rude  stories   and  jests,  recited  by 

some  strolling  mummer  or  minstrel  to  the  listen- 

142 


ing  circle,  gathered  around  the  blaze  and  wel- 
coming the  coarse,  gross  jests,  and  coarser,  gross- 
er songs  with  roars  of  boisterous  laughter. 

Yet  bleak  and  dreary  as  was  the  winter  in 
those  days,  and  cold  and  biting  as  was  the  frost 
in  the  cheerless,  windy  halls  and  corridors  of  the 
castle,  it  was  not  without  its  joys  to  the  young 
lads;  for  then,  as  now,  boys  could  find  pleasure 
even  in  slushy  weather,  when  the  sodden  snow 
is  fit  for  nothing  but  to  make  snowballs  of. 

Thrice  that  bitter  winter  the  moat  was  frozen 
over,  and  the  lads,  making  themselves  skates  of 
marrow-bones,  which  they  bought  from  the  hall 
cook  at  a  groat  a  pair,  went  skimming  over  the 
smooth  surface,  red-cheeked  and  shouting,  while 
the  crows  and  the  jackdaws  looked  down  at  them 
from  the  top  of  the  bleak  gray  walls. 

Then  at  Yule-tide,  which  was  somewhat  of  a 
rude  semblance  to  the  Merry  Christmas  season 
of  our  day,  a  great  feast  was  held  in  the  hall,  and 
all  the  castle  folk  were  fed  in  the  presence  of  the 
Earl  and  the  Countess.  Oxen  and  sheep  were 
roasted  whole ;  huge  suet  puddings,  made  of  bar- 
ley meal  sweetened  with  honey  and  stuffed  with 
plums,  were  boiled  in  great  caldrons  in  the  open 
court- yard;  whole  barrels  of  ale  and  malmsey 
were  broached,  and  all  the  folk,  gentle  and  sim- 
ple, were  bidden  to  the  feast.     Afterwards   the 

143 


minstrels  danced  and  played  a  rude  play,  and  in 
the  evening  a  miracle  show  was  performed  on  a 
raised  platform  in  the  north  hall. 

For  a  week  afterwards  the  castle  was  fed  upon 
the  remains  of  the  good  things  left  from  that  great 
feast,  until  every  one  grew  to  loathe  fine  victuals, 
and  longed  for  honest  beef  and  mustard  again. 

Then  at  last  in  that  constant  change  the  win- 
ter was  gone,  and  even  the  lads  who  had  enjoyed 
its  passing  were  glad  when  the  winds  blew  warm 
once  more,  and  the  grass  showed  green  in  sunny 
places,  and  the  leader  of  the  wild- fowl  blew  his 
horn,  as  they  who  in  the  fall  had  flown  to  the 
south  flew,  arrow-like,  northward  again ;  when  the 
buds  swelled  and  the  leaves  burst  forth  once  more* 
and  crocuses  and  then  daffodils  gleamed  in  the 
green  grass,  like  sparks  and  flames  of  gold. 

With  the  spring  came  the  out- door  sports  of 
the  season ;  among  others  that  of  ball — for  boys 
were  boys,  and  played  at  ball  even  in  those  far- 
away days — a  game  called  trap- ball.  Even  yet 
in  some  parts  of  England  it  is  played  just  as  it 
was  in  Myles  Falworth's  day,  and  enjoyed  just  as 
Myles  and  his  friends  enjoyed  it. 

So  now  that  the  sun  was  warm  and  the  weath- 
er pleasant  the  game  of  trap -ball  was  in  full 
swing  every  afternoon,  the  play-ground  being  an 

open  space  between  the  wall  that  surrounded  the 

144 


castle  grounds  and  that  of  the  privy  garden — • 
the  pleasance  in  which  the  ladies  of  the  Earl's 
family  took  the  air  every  day,  and  upon  which 
their  apartments  opened. 

Now  one  fine  breezy  afternoon,  when  the  lads 
were  shouting  and  playing  at  this,  then  their  fa- 
vorite game,  Myles  himself  was  at  the  trap  bare- 
handed and  barearmed.  The  wind  was  blowing 
from  behind  him,  and,  aided  perhaps  by  it,  he 
had  already  struck  three  or  four  balls  nearly  the 
whole  length  of  the  court — an  unusual  distance 
— and  several  of  the  lads  had  gone  back  almost 
as  far  as  the  wall  of  the  privy  garden  to  catch 
any  ball  that  might  chance  to  fly  as  far  as  that. 
Then  once  more  Myles  struck,  throwing  all  his 
strength  into  the  blow.  The  ball  shot  up  into 
the  air,  and  when  it  fell,  it  was  to  drop  within  the 
privy  garden. 

The  shouts  of  the  young  players  were  instant- 
ly stilled,  and  Gascoyne,  who  stood  nearest  Myles, 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  belt,  giving  a  long  shrill 
whistle. 

"  This  time  thou  hast  struck  us  all  out,  Myles,* 
said  he.  "  There  be  no  more  play  for  us  until 
we  get  another  ball." 

The  outfielders  came  slowly  trooping  in  until 
they  had  gathered  in  a  little  circle  around  Myles. 

"  I  could  not  help  it,"  said  Myles,  in  answer  to 

R  I4S 


their  grumbling.  "  How  knew  I  the  ball  would 
fly  so  far  ?  But  if  I  ha'  lost  the  ball,  I  can  get  it 
again.     I  will  climb  the  wall  for  it." 

"  Thou  shalt  do  naught  of  the  kind,  Myles," 
said  Gascoyne,  hastily.  "  Thou  art  as  mad  as  a 
March  hare  to  think  of  such  a  venture !  Wouldst 
get  thyself  shot  with  a  bolt  betwixt  the  ribs,  like 
poor  Diccon  Cook  ?" 

Of  all  places  about  the  castle  the  privy  garden 
was  perhaps  the  most  sacred.  It  was  a  small  plot 
of  ground,  only  a  few  rods  long  and  wide,  and  was 
kept  absolutely  private  for  the  use  of  the  Count- 
ess and  her  family.  Only  a  little  while  before 
Myles  had  first  come  to  Devlen,  one  of  the  cook's 
men  had  been  found  climbing  the  wall,  where- 
upon the  soldier  who  saw  him  shot  him  with  his 
cross  bow.  The  poor  fellow  dropped  from  the 
wall  into  the  garden,  and  when  they  found  him, 
he  still  held  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  his  hand,  which 
he  had  perhaps  been  gathering  for  his  sweet- 
heart. 

Had  Myles  seen  him  carried  on  a  litter  to  the 
infirmary  as  Gascoyne  and  some  of  the  others 
had  done,  he  might  have  thought  twice  before 
venturing  to  enter  the  ladies'  private  garden.  As 
it  was,  he  only  shook  his  stubborn  head,  and  said 
again,  "  I  will  climb  the  wall  and  fetch  it." 

Now  at  the  lower  extremity  of  the  court,  and 

146 


about  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  distant  from  the  gar- 
den wall,  there  grew  a  pear-tree,  some  of  the 
branches  of  which  overhung  into  the  garden  be- 
yond. So,  first  making  sure  that  no  one  was  look- 
ing that  way,  and  bidding  the  others  keep  a  sharp 
lookout,  Myles  shinned  up  this  tree,  and  choos- 
ing one  of  the  thicker  limbs,  climbed  out  upon  it 
for  some  little  distance.  Then  lowering  his  body, 
he  hung  at  arm's-length,  the  branch  bending 
with  his  weight,  and  slowly  let  himself  down  hand 
under  hand,  until  at  last  he  hung  directly  over 
the  top  of  the  wall,  and  perhaps  a  foot  above  it. 
Below  him  he  could  see  the  leafy  top  of  an  arbor 
covered  with  a  thick  growth  of  clematis,  and  even 
as  he  hung  there  he  noticed  the  broad  smooth 
walks,  the  grassy  terrace  in  front  of  the  Count- 
ess's apartments  in  the  distance,  the  quaint  flow- 
er-beds, the  yew-trees  trimmed  into  odd  shapes, 
and  even  the  deaf  old  gardener  working  bare- 
armed  in  the  sunlight  at  a  flower-bed  in  the  far 
corner  by  the  tool-house. 

The  top  of  the  wall  was  pointed  like  a  house 
roof,  and  immediately  below  him  was  covered 
by  a  thick  growth  of  green  moss,  and  it  flashed 
through  his  mind  as  he  hung  there  that  maybe 
it  would  offer  a  very  slippery  foothold  for  one 
dropping  upon  the  steep  slopes  of  the  top.  But 
it  was  too  late  to  draw  back  now. 

147 


Bracing  himself  for  a  moment,  he  loosed  his 
hold  upon  the  limb  above.  The  branch  flew  back 
with  a  rush,  and  he  dropped,  striving  to  grasp 
the  sloping  angle  with  his  feet.  Instantly  the 
treacherous  slippery  moss  slid  away  from  beneath 
him;  he  made  a  vain  clutch  at  the  wall,  his  fin- 
gers sliding  over  the  cold  stones,  then,  with  a 
sharp  exclamation,  down  he  pitched  bodily  into 
the  garden  beneath !  A  thousand  thoughts  flew 
through  his  brain  like  a  cloud  of  flies,  and  then  a 
leafy  greenness  seemed  to  strike  up  against  him. 
A  splintering  crash  sounded  in  his  ears  as  the 
lattice  top  of  the  arbor  broke  under  him,  and 
with  one  final  clutch  at  the  empty  air  he  fell 
heavily  upon  the  ground  beneath. 

He  heard  a  shrill  scream  that  seemed  to  find 
an  instant  echo ;  even  as  he  fell  he  had  a  vision 
of  faces  and  bright  colors,  and  when  he  sat  up, 
dazed  and  bewildered,  he  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  the  Lady  Anne,  the  daughter  of  the 
house,  and  her  cousin,  the  Lady  Alice,  who, 
clutching  one  another  tightly,  stood  staring  at 
him  with  wide  scared  eyes. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

For  a  little  time  there  was  a  pause  of  deep 
silence,  during  which  the  fluttering  leaves  came 
drifting  down  from  the  broken  arbor  above. 

It  was  the  Lady  Anne  who  first  spoke.  "  Who 
art  thou,  and  whence  comest  thou  ?"  said  she, 
tremulously. 

Then  Myles  gathered  himself  up  sheepishly. 
"  My  name  is  Myles  Falworth,"  said  he,  "  and  I 
am  one  of  the  squires  of  the  body." 

"  Oh !  aye !"  said  the  Lady  Alice,  suddenly. 
11  Methought  I  knew  thy  face.  Art  thou  not  the 
young  man  that  I  have  seen  in  Lord  George's 
train  ?" 

"  Yes,  lady,"  said  Myles,  wrapping  and  twin- 
ing a  piece  of  the  broken  vine  in  and  out  among 
his  fingers.  "  Lord  George  hath  often  had  me 
of  late  about  his  person." 

"  And  what  dost  thou  do  here,  sirrah  ?"  said 

Lady  Anne,  angrily.    "  How  darest  thou  come  so 

into  our  garden  ?" 

149 


"  I  meant  not  to  come  as  I  did,"  said  Myles, 
clumsily,  and  with  a  face  hot  and  red,  "  but  I 
slipped  over  the  top  of  the  wall  and  fell  hastily 
into  the  garden.  Truly,  lady,  I  meant  ye  no 
harm  or  fright  thereby." 

He  looked  so  drolly  abashed  as  he  stood  be- 
fore them,  with  his  clothes  torn  and  soiled  from 
the  fall,  his  face  red,  and  his  eyes  downcast, 
all  the  while  industriously  twisting  the  piece  of 
clematis  in  and  around  his  fingers,  that  Lady 
Anne's  half-frightened  anger  could  not  last.  She 
and  her  cousin  exchanged  glances,  and  smiled  at 
one  another. 

"  But,"  said  she  at  last,  trying  to  draw  her 
pretty  brows  together  into  a  frown,  "tell  me;  why 
didst  thou  seek  to  climb  the  wall?" 

"  I  came  to  seek  a  ball,"  said  Myles,  "  which  I 
struck  over  hither  from  the  court  beyond." 

"  And  wouldst  thou  come  into  our  privy  gar- 
den for  no  better  reason  than  to  find  a  ball?"  said 
the  young  lady. 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles  ;  "  it  was  not  so  much  to 

find  the  ball,  but,  in  good  sooth,  I  did  truly  strike 

it  harder  than  need  be,  and  so,  gin  I  lost  the  ball, 

I  could  do  no  less  than  come  and  find  it  again, 

else  our  sport  is  done  for  the  day.     So  it  was  I 

came  hither." 

The  two  young  ladies  had  by  now  recovered 
150 


from  their  fright.  The  Lady  Anne  slyly  nudged 
her  cousin  with  her  elbow,  and  the  younger  could 
not  suppress  a  half-nervous  laugh.  Myles  heard 
it,  and  felt  his  face  grow  hotter  and  redder  than 
ever. 

"  Nay,"  said  ^Lady  Anne,  "  I  do  believe  Master 
Giles—" 

"  My  name  be'st  Myles,"  corrected  Myles. 

"  Very  well,  then,  Master  Myles  ;  I  say  I  do 
believe  that  thou  meanest  no  harm  in  coming 
hither ;  ne'theless  it  was  ill  of  thee  so  to  do.  An 
my  father  should  find  thee  here,  he  would  have 
thee  shrewdly  punished  for  such  trespassing. 
Dost  thou  not  know  that  no  one  is  permitted  to 
enter  this  place — no,  not  even  my  uncle  George  ? 
One  fellow  who  came  hither  to  steal  apples  once 
had  his  ears  shaven  close  to  his  head,  and  not 
more  than  a  year  ago  one  of  the  cook's  men  who 
climbed  the  wall  early  one  morning  was  shot  by 
the  watchman." 

"  Aye,"  said  Myles, "  I  knew  of  him  who  was 
shot,  and  it  did  go  somewhat  against  my  stom- 
ach to  venture,  knowing  what  had  happed  to 
him.  Ne'theless,  an  I  gat  not  the  ball,  how  were 
we  to  play  more  to-day  at  the  trap  ?" 

"  Marry,  thou  art  a  bold  fellow,  I  do  believe 
me,"  said  the  young  lady,  "  and  sin  thou  hast 
come  in  the  face  of  such  peril  to  get  thy  ball, 

151 


thou  shalt  not  go  away  empty.  Whither  didst 
thou  strike  it  ?" 

"  Over  yonder  by  the  cherry-tree,"  said  Myles, 
jerking  his  head  in  that  direction.  "  An  I  may 
go  get  it,  I  will  trouble  ye  no  more."  As  he 
spoke  he  made  a  motion  to  leave  them. 

"  Stay !"  said  the  Lady  Anne,  hastily ;  "  remain 
where  thou  art  An  thou  cross  the  open,  some 
one  may  haply  see  thee  from  the  house,  and  will 
give  the  alarm,  and  thou  wilt  be  lost.  I  will  go 
get  thy  ball." 

And  so  she  left  Myles  and  her  cousin,  cross- 
ing the  little  plots  of  grass  and  skirting  the  rose- 
bushes to  the  cherry-tree. 

When  Myles  found  himself  alone  with  Lady 
Alice,  he  knew  not  where  to  look  or  what  to  do, 
but  twisted  the  piece  of  clematis  which  he  still 
held  in  and  out  more  industriously  than  ever. 

Lady  Alice  watched  him  with  dancing  eyes 
for  a  little  while.  "  Haply  thou  wilt  spoil  that 
poor  vine,"  said  she  by-and-by,  breaking  the  si- 
lence and  laughing,  then  turning  suddenly  seri- 
ous again.  "  Didst  thou  hurt  thyself  by  thy  fall  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  looking  up ;  " such  a  fall  as 
that  was  no  great  matter.  Many  and  many  a  time 
I  have  had  worse." 

"  Hast  thou  so  ?"  said  the  Lady  Alice.  "  Thou 
didst  fright  me  parlously,  and  my  coz  likewise." 


Myles  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  blurted 
out, "  Thereat  I  grieve,  for  thee  I  would  not  fright 
for  all  the  world." 

The  young  lady  laughed  and  blushed.  "All 
the  world  is  a  great  matter,"  said  she. 

"  Yea,"  said  he, "  it  is  a  great  matter ;  but  it  is 
a  greater  matter  to  fright  thee,  and  so  I  would  not 
do  it  for  that,  and  more." 

The  young  lady  laughed  again,  but  she  did  not 
say  anything  further,  and  a  space  of  silence  fell 
so  long  that  by-and-by  she  forced  herself  to  say, 
"  My  cousin  nndeth  not  the  ball  presently." 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  briefly,  and  then  again  nei- 
ther spoke,  until  by-and-by  the  Lady  Anne  came, 
bringing  the  ball.  Myles  felt  a  great  sense  of  re- 
lief at  that  coming,  and  yet  was  somehow  sorry. 
Then  he  took  the  ball,  and  knew  enough  to  bow 
his  acknowledgment  in  a  manner  neither  ill  nor 
awkward. 

"  Didst  thou  hurt  thyself  ?"  said  Lady  Anne. 

"Nay,"  said  Myles,  giving  himself  a  shake; 
"  seest  thou  not  I  be  whole,  limb  and  bone  ? 
Nay,  I  have  had  shrewdly  worse  falls  than  that. 
Once  I  fell  out  of  an  oak-tree  down  by  the  river 
and  upon  a  root,  and  bethought  me  I  did  break 
a  rib  or  more.  And  then  one  time  when  I  was 
a  boy  in  Crosbey-Dale — that  was  where  I  lived 
before  I  came  hither — I  did  catch  me  hold  of  the 

L 

15$ 


blade  of  the  windmill,  thinking  it  was  moving 
slowly,  and  that  I  would  have  a  ride  i'  th'  air,  and 
so  was  like  to  have  had  a  fall  ten  thousand  times 
worse  than  this." 

"  Oh,  tell  us  more  of  that !"  said  the  Lady  Anne, 
eagerly.  "  I  did  never  hear  of  such  an  adventure 
as  that.  Come,  coz,  and  sit  down  here  upon  the 
bench,  and  let  us  have  him  tell  us  all  of  that  hap- 
pening." 

Now  the  lads  upon  the  other  side  of  the  wall 
had  been  whistling  furtively  for  some  time,  not 
knowing  whether  Myles  had  broken  his  neck  or 
had  come  off  scot-free  from  his  fall.  "  I  would 
like  right  well  to  stay  with  ye,"  said  he,  irresolute- 
ly, "  and  would  gladly  tell  ye  that  and  more  an  ye 
would  have  me  to  do  so;  but  hear  ye  not  my 
friends  call  me  from  beyond  ?  Mayhap  they  think 
I  break  my  back,  and  are  calling  to  see  whether  I 
be  alive  or  no.  An  I  might  whistle  them  answer 
and  toss  me  this  ball  to  them,  all  would  then  be 
well,  and  they  would  know  that  I  was  not  hurt, 
and  so,  haply,  would  go  away." 

"  Then  answer  them,"  said  the  Lady  Anne, 
"  and  tell  us  of  that  thing  thou  spokest  of  anon — 
how  thou  tookest  a  ride  upon  the  windmill.  We 
young  ladies  do  hear  little  of  such  matters,  not 
being  allowed  to  talk  with  lads.  All  that  we  hear 
of  perils  are  of  knights  and  ladies  and  jousting, 

154 


and  such  like.  It  would  pleasure  us  right  well 
to  have  thee  tell  of  thy  adventures." 

So  Myles  tossed  back  the  ball,  and  whistled  in 
answer  to  his  friends. 

Then  he  told  the  two  young  ladies  not  only  of 
his  adventure  upon  the  windmill,  but  also  of  oth- 
er boyish  escapades,  and  told  them  well,  with  a 
straightforward  smack  and  vigor,  for  he  enjoyed 
adventure  and  loved  to  talk  of  it.  In  a  little 
while  he  had  regained  his  ease ;  his  shyness  and 
awkwardness  left  him,  and  nothing  remained  but 
the  delightful  fact  that  he  was  really  and  actually 
talking  to  two  young  ladies,  and  that  with  just  as 
much  ease  and  infinitely  more  pleasure  than  could 
be  had  in  discourse  with  his  fellow-squires.  But 
at  last  it  was  time  for  him  to  go.  "  Marry,"  said 
he,  with  a  half-sigh,  "  methinks  I  did  never  ha'  so 
sweet  and  pleasant  a  time  in  all  my  life  before. 
Never  did  I  know  a  real  lady  to  talk  with,  sav- 
ing only  my  mother,  and  I  do  tell  ye  plain  me- 
thinks I  would  rather  talk  with  ye  than  with  any 
he  in  Christendom  —  saving,  perhaps,  only  my 
friend  Gascoyne.  I  would  I  might  come  hither 
again." 

The  honest  frankness  of  his  speech  was  irre- 
sistible ;  the  two  girls  exchanged  glances  and 
then  began  laughing.  "  Truly,"  said  Lady  Anne, 
who,  as  was  said  before,  was  some  three  or  four 

155 


years  older  than  Myles,  "  thou  art  a  bold  lad  to 
ask  such  a  thing.  How  wouldst  thou  come  hith- 
er ?  Wouldst  tumble  through  our  clematis  arbor 
again,  as  thou  didst  this  day  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  "  I  would  not  do  that  again, 
but  if  ye  will  bid  me  do  so,  I  will  find  the  means 
to  come  hither." 

"  Nay,"  said  Lady  Anne,  "  I  dare  not  bid  thee 
do  such  a  foolhardy  thing.  Nevertheless,  if  thou 
hast  the  courage  to  come — " 

"  Yea,"  said  Myles,  eagerly,  "  I  have  the 
courage." 

"  Then,  if  thou  hast  so,  we  will  be  here  in  the 
garden  on  Saturday  next  at  this  hour.  I  would 
like  right  well  to  hear  more  of  thy  adventures. 
But  what  didst  thou  say  was  thy  name  ?  I  have 
forgot  it  again." 

"  It  is  Myles  Falworth." 

"  Then  we  shall  yclep  thee  Sir  Myles,  for  thou 
art  a  soothly  errant- knight.  And  stay!  Every 
knight  must  have  a  lady  to  serve.  How  wouldst 
thou  like  my  Cousin  Alice  here  for  thy  true 
lady?" 

"  Aye,"  said  Myles,  eagerly,  "  I  would  like  it 
right  well."  And  then  he  blushed  fiery  red  at 
his  boldness. 

"  I  want  no  errant-knight  to  serve  me,"  said  the 
Lady  Alice,  blushing,  in  answer.     "  Thou  dost  ill 

156 


Myles  entertains  the  Lady  Anne  and  the  Lady  Alice  with  his  advcntui 


tease  me,  coz !  An  thou  art  so  free  in  choosing 
him  a  lady  to  serve,  thou  mayst  choose  him  thy- 
self for  thy  pains." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Lady  Anne,  laughing ;  "  I  say 
thou  shalt  be  his  true  lady,  and  he  shall  be  thy 
true  knight.  Who  knows  ?  Perchance  he  may 
serven  thee  in  some  wondrous  adventure,  like  as 
Chaucer  telleth  of.  But  now,  Sir  Errant-Knight, 
thou  must  take  thy  leave  of  us,  and  I  must  e'en 
let  thee  privily  out  by  the  postern-wicket.  And 
if  thou  wilt  take  the  risk  upon  thee  and  come 
hither  again,  prithee  be  wary  in  that  coming,  lest 
in  venturing  thou  have  thine  ears  clipped  in  most 
unknightly  fashion." 

That  evening,  as  he  and  Gascoyne  sat  together 
on  a  bench  under  the  trees  in  the  great  quad- 
rangle, Myles  told  of  his  adventure  of  the  after- 
noon, and  his  friend  listened  with  breathless  in- 
terest. 

"  But,  Myles,"  cried  Gascoyne,  "  did  the  Lady 
Anne  never  once  seem  proud  and  unkind  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles  ;  "  only  at  first,  when  she 
chid  me  for  falling  through  the  roof  of  their  ar- 
bor. And  to  think,  Francis !  Lady  Anne  her- 
self bade  me  hold  the  Lady  Alice  as  my  true  lady, 
and  to  serve  her  in  all  knightliness !"  Then  he 
told  his  friend  that  he  was  going  to  the  privy 
garden  again  on  the   next    Saturday,  and  that 

157 


th«   Lady  Anne   had   given  him  permission   so 
to  do. 

Gascoyne  gave  a  long,  wondering  whistle,  and 
then  sat  quite  still,  staring  into  the  sky.  By-and- 
by  he  turned  to  his  friend  and  said,  "  I  give  thee 
my  pledge,  Myles  Falworth,  that  never  in  all  my 
life  did  I  hear  of  any  one  that  had  such  marvel- 
lous strange  happenings  befall  him  as  thou." 

Whenever  the  opportunity  occurred  for  send- 
ing a  letter  to  Crosbey-Holt,  Myles  wrote  one  to 
his  mother;  and  one  can  guess  how  they  were 
treasured  by  the  good  lady,  and  read  over  and 
over  again  to  the  blind  old  Lord  as  he  sat  staring 
into  darkness  with  his  sightless  eyes. 

About  the  time  of  this  escapade  he  wrote  a 
letter  telling  of  those  doings,  wherein,  after  speak- 
ing of  his  misadventure  of  falling  from  the  wall, 
and  of  his  acquaintance  with  the  young  ladies, 
he  went  on  to  speak  of  the  manner  in  which  he 
repeated  his  visits.  The  letter  was  worded  in 
the  English  of  that  day — the  quaint  and  crabbed 
language  in  which  Chaucer  wrote.  Perhaps  few 
boys  could  read  it  nowadays,  so,  modernizing  it 
somewhat,  it  ran  thus : 

"And  now  to  let  ye  weet  that  thing  that  follow- 
ed that  happening  that  made  me  acquaint  with 
they  two  young  Damoiselles.      I  take  me  to  the 

158 


south  wall  of  that  garden  one  day  four  and  twenty 
great  spikes,  which  Peter  Smith  did  forge  for  me, 
and  for  which  I  pay  him  fivepence,  and  that  all 
the  money  that  I  had  left  of  my  half-year's  wage, 
and  wot  not  where  I  may  get  more  at  these  pres- 
ent, withouten  I  do  betake  me  to  Sir  James,  who, 
as  I  did  tell  ye,  hath  consented  to  hold  those  mon- 
eys that  Prior  Edward  gave  me  till  I  need  them. 

"  Now  these  same  spikes,  I  say,  I  take  me  them 
down  behind  the  corner  of  the  wall,  and  there  drave 
them  betwixt  the  stones,  my  very  dear  comrade 
and  true  friend  Gascoyne  holping  me  thereto  to 
do.  And  so  come  Saturday,  I  climb  me  over  the 
wall  and  to  the  roof  of  the  tool-house  below,  seek- 
ing a  fitting  opportunity  when  I  might  so  do  with- 
out being  in  too  great  jeopardy. 

"Yea;  and  who  should  be  there  but  they  two 
ladies,  biding  my  coming,  who,  seeing  me,  made  as 
though  they  had  expected  me  not,  and  gave  me 
greatest  rebuke  for  aventuring  so  moughtily.  Yet, 
methinks,  were  they  right  well  pleasured  that  I 
should  so  aventure,  which  indeed  I  might  not 
otherwise  do,  seeing  as  I  have  telled  to  thee,  that 
one  of  them  is  mine  own  true  lady  for  to  serven, 
and  so  was  the  only  way  that  I  might  come  to 
speech  with  her." 

Such  was  Myles's  own  quaint  way  of  telling  how 
he  accomplished  his  aim  of  visiting  the  forbidden 

XSq 


garden,  and  no  doubt  the  smack  of  adventure  and 
the  savor  of  danger  in  the  undertaking  recom- 
mended him  not  a  little  to  the  favor  of  the  young 
ladies. 

After  this  first  acquaintance  perhaps  a  month 
passed,  during  which  Myles  had  climbed  the  wall 
some  half  a  dozen  times  (for  the  Lady  Anne  would 
not  permit  of  too  frequent  visits),  and  during  which 
the  first  acquaintance  of  the  three  ripened  rap- 
idly to  an  honest,  pleasant  friendship.  More  than 
once  Myles,  when  in  Lord  George's  train,  caught 
a  covert  smile  or  half  nod  from  one  or  both  of 
the  girls,  not  a  little  delightful  in  its  very  secret 
friendliness. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

As  was  said,  perhaps  a  month  passed;  then 
Myles's  visits  came  to  an  abrupt  termination,  and 
with  it  ended,  in  a  certain  sense,  a  chapter  of  his 
life. 

One  Saturday  afternoon  he  climbed  the  gar- 
den wall,  and  skirting  behind  a  long  row  of  rose- 
bushes that  screened  him  from  the  Countess's 
terrace,  came  to  a  little  summer-house  where  the 
two  young  ladies  had  appointed  to  meet  him  that 
day. 

A  pleasant  half-hour  or  so  was  passed,  and  then 
it  was  time  for  Myles  to  go.  He  lingered  for  a 
while  before  he  took  his  final  leave,  leaning  against 
the  door-post,  and  laughingly  telling  how  he  and 
some  of  his  brother  squires  had  made  a  figure  of 
straw  dressed  in  men's  clothes,  and  had  played  a 
trick  with  it  one  night  upon  a  watchman  against 
whom  they  bore  a  grudge. 

The  young  ladies  were  listening  with  laughing 
faces,  when  suddenly,  as  Myles  looked,  he  saw  the 

L  l6l 


smile  vanish  from  Lady  Aiice's  eyes  and  a  wide 
terror  take  its  place.  She  gave  a  half -articulate 
cry,  and  rose  abruptly  from  the  bench  upon  which 
she  was  sitting. 

Myles  turned  sharply,  and  then  his  very  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still  within  him;  for  there,  stand- 
ing in  the  broad  sunlight  without,  and  glaring  in 
upon  the  party  with  baleful  eyes,  was  the  Earl  of 
Mackworth  himself. 

How  long  was  the  breathless  silence  that  fol- 
lowed, Myles  could  never  tell.  He  knew  that  the 
Lady  Anne  had  also  risen,  and  that  she  and  her 
cousin  were  standing  as  still  as  statues.  Present- 
ly the  Earl  pointed  to  the  house  with  his  staff, 
and  Myles  noted  stupidly  how  it  trembled  in  his 
hand. 

"  Ye  wenches,"  said  he  at  last,  in  a  hard,  harsh 
voice — "ye  wenches,  what  meaneth  this?  Would 
ye  deceive  me  so,  and  hold  parlance  thus  secretly 
with  this  fellow?  I  will  settle  with  him  anon. 
Meantime  get  ye  straightway  to  the  house  and  to 
your  rooms,  and  there  abide  until  I  give  ye  leave 
to  come  forth  again.     Go,  I  say !" 

"  Father,"  said  Lady  Anne,  in  a  breathless  voice 
— she  was  as  white  as  death,  and  moistened  her 
lips  with  her  tongue  before  she  spoke — "father, 
thou  wilt  not  do  harm  to  this  young  man.    Spare 

him,  I  do  beseech  thee,  for  truly  it  was  I  who  bade 

162 


him  come  hither.  I  know  that  he  would  not  have 
come  but  at  our  bidding." 

The  Earl  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  gravel. 
"  Did  ye  not  hear  me  ?"  said  he,  still  pointing  tow- 
ards the  house  with  his  trembling  staff.  "  I  bade 
ye  go  to  your  rooms.  I  will  settle  with  this  fel- 
low, I  say,  as  I  deem  fitting." 

"Father,"  began  Lady  Anne  again;  but  the 
Earl  made  such  a  savage  gesture  that  poor  Lady 
Alice  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and  Lady  Anne 
Stopped  abruptly,  trembling.  Then  she  turned 
and  passed  out  the  farther  door  of  the  summer- 
house,  poor  little  Lady  Alice  following,  holding 
her  tight  by  the  skirts,  and  trembling  and  shud- 
dering as  though  with  a  fit  of  the  ague. 

The  Earl  stood  looking  grimly  after  them  from 

under  his  shaggy  eyebrows,  until  they  passed  away 

behind  the  yew-trees,  appeared  again  upon  the 

terrace   behind,  entered  the  open  doors  of   the 

women's    house,  and   were   gone.     Myles    heard 

their  footsteps   growing  fainter  and  fainter,  but 

he  never  raised  his  eyes.     Upon  the  ground  at 

his  feet  were  four  pebbles,  and  he  noticed  how 

they  almost  made  a  square,  and  would  do  so  if  he 

pushed  one  of  them  with   his  toe,  and   then   it 

seemed  strange  to  him  that  he  should  think  of 

such  a  little  foolish  thing  at  that  dreadful  time. 

He  knew  that  the  Earl  was  looking  gloomily  at 
163 


him,  and  that  his  face  must  be  very  pale.  Sud- 
denly Lord  Mackworth  spoke.  "  What  hast  thou 
to  say  ?"  said  he,  harshly. 

Then  Myles  raised  his  eyes,  and  the  Earl 
smiled  grimly  as  he  looked  his  victim  over.  "  I 
have  naught  to  say,"  said  the  lad,  huskily. 

"  Didst  thou  not  hear  what  my  daughter  spake 
but  now?"  said  the  Earl.  "She  said  that  thou 
came  not  of  thy  own  free-will ;  what  sayst  thou 
to  that,  sirrah — is  it  true?" 

Myles  hesitated  for  a  moment  or  two ;  his  throat 
was  tight  and  dry.  "Nay,"  said  he  at  last,  "she 
belieth  herself.  It  was  I  who  first  came  into  the 
garden.  I  fell  by  chance  from  the  tree  yonder — 
I  was  seeking  a  ball — then  I  asked  those  two  if  I 
might  not  come  hither  again,  and  so  have  done 
some  several  times  in  all.  But  as  for  her — nay; 
it  was  not  at  her  bidding  that  I  came,  but  through 
mine  own  asking." 

The  Earl  gave  a  little  grunt  in  his  throat. 
"And  how  often  hast  thou  been  here?"  said  he, 
presently. 

Myles  thought  a  moment  or  two.  "  This  mak- 
eth  the  seventh  time,"  said  he. 

Another  pause  of  silence  followed,  and  Myles 
began  to  pluck  up  some  heart  that  maybe  all 
would  yet  be  well.  The  Earl's  next  speech  dash- 
ed that  hope  into  a  thousand  fragments.     "  Well 

164 


thou  knowest,"  said  he,  "that  it  is  forbid  for  any 
to  come  here.  Well  thou  knowest  that  twice 
have  men  been  punished  for  this  thing  that  thou 
hast  done,  and  yet  thou  earnest  in  spite  of  all. 
Now  dost  thou  know  what  thou  wilt  suffer  ?" 

Myles  picked  with  nervous  fingers  at  a  crack  in 
the  oaken  post  against  which  he  leaned.  "  May- 
hap thou  wilt  kill  me,"  said  he  at  last,  in  a  dull, 
choking  voice. 

Again  the  Earl  smiled  a  grim  smile.  "Nay," 
said  he,  "  I  would  not  slay  thee,  for  thou  hast  gen- 
tle blood.  But  what  sayest  thou  should  I  shear 
thine  ears  from  thine  head,  or  perchance  have 
thee  scourged  in  the  great  court  ?" 

The  sting  of  the  words  sent  the  blood  flying 
back  to  Myles's  face  again,  and  he  looked  quick- 
ly up.  "  Nay,"  said  he,  with  a  boldness  that  sur- 
prised himself;  "thou  shalt  do  no  such  unlord- 
ly  thing  upon  me  as  that.  I  be  thy  peer,  sir,  in 
blood ;  and  though  thou  mayst  kill  me,  thou  hast 
no  right  to  shame  me!" 

Lord  Mackworth  bowed  with  a  mocking  cour- 
tesy. "  Marry!"  said  he.  "  Methought  it  was  one 
of  mine  own  saucy  popinjay  squires  that  I  caught 
sneaking  here  and  talking  to  those  two  foolish 
young  lasses,  and,  lo!  it  is  a  young  Lord — or  may- 
hap thou  art  a  young  Prince — and  commandeth 

me  that  I  shall  not  do  this  and  I  shall  not  do  that 

165 


I  crave  your  Lordship's  honorable  pardon,  if  I 
have  said  aught  that  may  have  galled  you." 

The  fear  Myles  had  felt  was  now  beginning  to 
dissolve  in  rising  wrath.  "  Nay,"  said  he,  stoutly, 
"  I  be  no  Lord  and  I  be  no  Prince,  but  I  be  as 
good  as  thou.  For  am  I  not  the  son  of  thy  one- 
time very  true  comrade  and  thy  kinsman — to  wit, 
the  Lord  Falworth,  whom,  as  thou  knowest,  is 
poor  and  broken,  and  blind,  and  helpless,  and  out- 
lawed, and  banned  ?  Yet,"  cried  he,  grinding  his 
teeth,  as  the  thought  of  it  all  rushed  in  upon  him, 
"I  would  rather  be  in  his  place  than  in  yours; 
for  though  he  be  ruined,  you — " 

He  had  just  sense  enough  to  stop  there. 

The  Earl,  gripping  his  staff  behind  his  back, 
and  with  his  head  a  little  bent,  was  looking  keen- 
ly at  the  lad  from  under  his  shaggy  gray  brows. 
"Well,"  said  he,  as  Myles  stopped,  "thou  hast 
gone  too  far  now  to  draw  back.  Say  thy  say  to 
the  end.  Why  wouldst  thou  rather  be  in  thy 
father's  stead  than  in  mine?" 

Myles  did  not  answer. 

"  Thou  shalt  finish  thy  speech,  or  else  show 
thyself  a  coward.  Though  thy  father  is  ruined, 
thou  didst  say  I  am — what?" 

Myles  keyed  himself  up  to  the  effort,  and  then 
blurted  out, "  Thou  art  attainted  with  shame." 

A  long  breathless  silence  followed. 

166 


"Myles  Falworth,"  said  the  Earl  at  last  (and 
even  in  the  whirling  of  his  wits  Myles  wondered 
that  he  had  the  name  so  pat) — "  Myles  Falworth, 
of  all  the  bold,  mad,  hare-brained  fools,  thou  art 
the  most  foolish.  How  dost  thou  dare  say  such 
words  to  me?  Dost  thou  not  know  that  thou 
makest  thy  coming  punishment  ten  times  more 
bitter  by  such  a  speech  ?" 

"Aye !"  cried  Myles, desperately;  "but  what  else 
could  I  do?  An  I  did  not  say  the  words,  thou 
callest  me  coward,  and  coward  I  am  not." 

"  By  'r  Lady !"  said  the  Earl, "  I  do  believe  thee. 
Thou  art  a  bold,  impudent  varlet  as  ever  lived — 
to  beard  me  so,  forsooth  !  Hark'ee ;  thou  sayst  I 
think  naught  of  mine  old  comrade.  I  will  show 
thee  that  thou  dost  belie  me.  I  will  suffer  what 
thou  hast  said  to  me  for  his  sake,  and  for  his  sake 
will  forgive  thee  thy  coming  hither  —  which  I 
would  not  do  in  another  case  to  any  other  man. 
Now  get  thee  gone  straightway,  and  come  hither 
no  more.  Yonder  is  the  postern -gate;  mayhap 
thou  knowest  the  way.  But  stay !  How  earnest 
thou  hither?" 

Myles  told  him  of  the  spikes  he  had  driven  in 

the  wall,  and  the  Earl  listened,  stroking  his  beard. 

When  the  lad  had  ended,  he  fixed  a  sharp  look 

upon  him.     "But  thou  drove  not  those   spikes 

alone,"  said  he;  "who  helped  thee  do  it?" 

167 , 


"That  I  may  not  tell,"  said  Myles,  firmly. 

"  So  be  it,"  said  the  Earl.  "  I  will  not  ask  thee 
to  tell  his  name.  Now  get  thee  gone !  And  as 
for  those  spikes,  thou  mayst  e'en  knock  them  out 
of  the  wall,  sin  thou  drave  them  in.  Play  no  more 
pranks  an  thou  wouldst  keep  thy  skin  whole.  And 
now  go,  I  say !" 

Myles  needed  no  further  bidding,  but  turned 
and  left  the  Earl  without  another  word.  As  he 
went  out  the  postern -gate  he  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  and  saw  the  tall  figure,  in  its  long  fur- 
trimmed  gown,  still  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
path,  looking  after  him  from  under  the  shaggy 
eyebrows. 

As  he  ran  across  the  quadrangle,  his  heart  still 
fluttering  in  his  breast,  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"The  old  grizzle -beard;  an  I  had  not  faced  him 
a  bold  front,  mayhap  he  would  have  put  such 
shame  upon  me  as  he  said.  I  wonder  why  he 
stood  so  staring  after  me  as  I  left  the  garden." 

Then  for  the  time  the  matter  slipped  from 
his  mind,  saving  only  that  part  that  smacked  of 
adventure. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

So  for  a  little  while  Myles  was  disposed  to  con- 
gratulate himself  upon  having  come  off  so  well 
from  his  adventure  with  the  Earl.  But  after  a 
day  or  two  had  passed,  and  he  had  time  for  second 
thought,  he  began  to  misdoubt  whether,  after  all, 
he  might  not  have  carried  it  with  a  better  air  if 
he  had  shown  more  chivalrous  boldness  in  the 
presence  of  his  true  lady;  whether  it  would  not 
have  redounded  more  to  his  credit  if  he  had  in 
some  way  asserted  his  rights  as  the  young  dame's 
knight-errant  and  defender.  Was  it  not  ignomini- 
ous to  resign  his  rights  and  privileges  so  easily 
and  tamely  at  a  signal  from  the  Earl  ? 

"  For,  in  sooth,"  said  he  to  Gascoyne,  as  the 
two  talked  the  matter  over,  "  she  hath,  in  a  cer- 
tain way,  accepted  me  for  her  knight,  and  yet  I 
stood  me  there  without  saying  so  much  as  one 
single  word  in  her  behalf." 

"  Nay,"  said  Gascoyne,  "  I  would  not  trouble 
me  on  that  score.    Methinks  that  thou  didst  come 

M  l6q 


off  wondrous  well  out  of  the  business.  I  would 
not  have  thought  it  possible  that  my  Lord  could 
ha'  been  so  patient  with  thee  as  he  showed  him- 
self. Methinks,  forsooth,  he  must  hold  thee  privily 
in  right  high  esteem." 

"  Truly,"  said  Myles,  after  a  little  pause  of  med- 
itative silence,  "  I  know  not  of  any  esteem,  yet  I 
do  think  he  was  passing  patient  with  me  in  this 
matter.  But  ne'theless,  Francis,  that  changeth 
not  my  stand  in  the  case.  'Yea,  I  did  shamefully, 
so  to  resign  my  lady  without  speaking  one  word ; 
nor  will  I  so  resign  her  even  yet.  I  have  be- 
thought me  much  of  this  matter  of  late,  Francis, 
and  now  I  come  to  thee  to  help  me  from  my  evil 
case.  I  would  have  thee  act  the  part  of  a  true 
friend  to  me — like  that  one  I  have  told  thee  of  in 
the  story  of  the  Emperor  Justinian.  I  would  have 
thee,  when  next  thou  servest  in  the  house,  to  so 
contrive  that  my  Lady  Alice  shall  get  a  letter 
which  I  shall  presently  write,  and  wherein  I  may 
set  all  that  is  crooked  straight  again." 

"  Heaven  forbid,"  said  Gascoyne,  hastily,  "  that 
I  should  be  such  a  fool  as  to  burn  my  fingers  in 
drawing  thy  nuts  from  the  fire !  Deliver  thy  let- 
ter thyself,  good  fellow !" 

So  spoke  Gascoyne,  yet  after  all  he  ended,  as 

he  usually  did,  by  yielding  to   Myles's  superior 

will  and  persistence.     So  the  letter  was  written, 

170 


and  one  day  the  good-natured  Gascoyne  carried 
it  with  him  to  the  house,  and  the  opportunity  of- 
fering, gave  it  to  one  of  the  young  ladies  attend- 
ant upon  the  Countess's  family — a  lass  with  whom 
he  had  friendly  intimacy — to  be  delivered  to  Lady 
Alice. 

But  if  Myles  congratulated  himself  upon  the 
success  of  this  new  adventure,  it  was  not  for  long. 
That  night,  as  the  cit^vd  of  pages  and  squires 
were  making  themselves  ready  for  bed,  the  call 
came  through  the  uproar  for  "  Myles  Falworth ! 
Myles  Falworth !" 

"  Here  I  be,"  cried  Myles,  standing  up  on  his 
cot.     "  Who  calleth  me  ?" 

It  was  the  groom  of  the  Earl's  bedchamber, 
and  seeing  Myles  standing  thus  raised  above  the 
others,  he  came  walking  down  the  length  of  the 
room  towards  him,  the  wonted  hubbub  gradually 
silencing  as  he  advanced  and  the  youngsters  turn- 
ing, staring,  and  wondering. 

11  My  Lord  would  speak  with  thee,  Myles  Fal- 
worth," said  the  groom,  when  he  had  come  close 
enough  to  where  Myles  stood.  "Busk  thee  and 
make  ready ;  he  is  at  livery  even  now." 

The  groom's  words  fell  upon  Myles  like  a 
blow.  He  stood  for  a  while  staring  wide-eyed. 
"  My  Lord  speak  with  me,  sayst  thou  !"  he  ejacu* 
lated  at  last. 

171 


"  Aye,"  said  the  other,  impatiently ;  "  get  thee 
ready  quickly.     I  must  return  anon." 

Myles's  head  was  in  a  whirl  as  he  hastily 
changed  his  clothes  for  a  better  suit,  Gascoyne 
helping  him.  What  could  the  Earl  want  with 
him  at  this  hour?  He  knew  in  his  heart  what  it 
was ;  the  interview  could  concern  nothing  but  the 
letter  that  he  had  sent  to  Lady  Alice  that  day. 
As  he  followed  the  groom  through  the  now  dark 
and  silent  courts,  and  across  the  corner  of  the 
great  quadrangle,  and  so  to  the  Earl's  house,  he 
tried  to  brace  his  failing  courage  to  meet  the 
coming  interview.  Nevertheless,  his  heart  beat 
tumultuously  as  he  followed  the  other  down  the 
long  corridor,  lit  only  by  a  flaring  link  set  in  a 
wrought-iron  bracket.  Then  his  conductor  lifted 
the  arras  at  the  door  of  the  bedchamber,  whence 
came  the  murmuring  sound  of  many  voices,  and 
holding  it  aside,  beckoned  him  to  enter,  and 
Myles  passed  within.  At  the  first,  he  was  con- 
scious of  nothing  but  a  crowd  of  people,  and  of 
the  brightness  of  many  lighted  candles ;  then  he 
saw  that  he  stood  in  a  great  airy  room  spread 
with  a  woven  mat  of  rushes.  On  three  sides  the 
walls  were  hung  with  tapestry  representing  hunt- 
ing and  battle  scenes ;  at  the  farther  end,  where 
the  bed  stood,  the  stone  wall  of  the  fourth  side 

was  covered  with  cloth  of  blue,  embroidered  with 

172 


silver  goshawks.  Even  now,  in  the  ripe  spring, 
time  of  May,  the  room  was  still  chilly,  and  a  great 
fire  roared  and  crackled  in  the  huge  gaping  mouth 
of  the  stone  fireplace.  Not  far  from  the  blaze 
were  clustered  the  greater  part  of  those  present, 
buzzing  in  talk,  now  and  then  swelled  by  mur- 
muring laughter.  Some  of  those  who  knew  Myles 
nodded  to  him,  and  two  or  three  spoke  to  him  as 
he  stood  waiting,  whilst  the  groom  went  forward 
to  speak  to  the  Earl ;  though  what  they  said  and 
what  he  answered,  Myles,  in  his  bewilderment  and 
trepidation,  hardly  knew. 

As  was  said  before,  the  livery  was  the  last  meal 
of  the  day,  and  was  taken  in  bed.  It  was  a  sim- 
ple repast — a  manchette,  or  small  loaf  of  bread  of 
pure  white  flour,  a  loaf  of  household  bread,  some- 
times a  lump  of  cheese,  and  either  a  great  flagon 
of  ale  or  of  sweet  wine,  warm  and  spiced.  The 
Earl  was  sitting  upright  in  bed,  dressed  in  a 
furred  dressing-gown,  and  propped  up  by  two 
cylindrical  bolsters  of  crimson  satin.  Upon  the 
coverlet,  and  spread  over  his  knees,  was  a  large 
wide  napkin  of  linen  fringed  with  silver  thread, 
and  on  it  rested  a  silver  tray  containing  the  bread 
and  some  cheese.  Two  pages  and  three  gentle- 
men were  waiting  upon  him,  and  Mad  Noll,  the 
Jester,  stood  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  now  and  then 

jingling  his  bawble  and  passing  some  quaint  jest 

173 


upon  the  chance  of  making  his  master  smile. 
Upon  a  table  near  by  were  some  dozen  or  so 
waxen  tapers  stuck  upon  as  many  spiked  candle- 
sticks of  silver-gilt,  and  illuminating  that  end  of 
the  room  with  their  bright  twinkling  flames.  One 
of  the  gentlemen  was  in  the  act  of  serving  the 
Earl  with  a  goblet  of  wine,  poured  from  a  silver 
ewer  by  one  of  the  squires,  as  the  groom  of  the 
chamber  came  forward  and  spoke.  The  Earl, 
taking  the  goblet,  turned  his  head,  and  as  Myles 
looked,  their  eyes  met.  Then  the  Earl  turned 
away  again  and  raised  the  cup  to  his  lips,  while 
Myles  felt  his  heart  beat  more  rapidly  than  ever. 

But  at  last  the  meal  was  ended,  and  the  Earl 
washed  his  hands  and  his  mouth  and  his  beard 
from  a  silver  basin  of  scented  water  held  by  an- 
other one  of  the  squires.  Then,  leaning  back 
against  the  pillows,  he  beckoned  to  Myles. 

In  answer  Myles  walked  forward  the  length  of 
the  room,  conscious  that  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
him.  The  Earl  said  something,  and  those  who 
stood  near  drew  back  as  he  came  forward.  Then 
Myles  found  himself  standing  beside  the  bed, 
looking  down  upon  the  quilted  counterpane,  feel- 
ing that  the  other  was  gazing  fixedly  at  him. 

"  I  sent  for  thee,"  said  the  Earl  at  last,  still 
looking  steadily  at  him,  "  because  this  afternoon 
came  a  letter  to  my  hand  which  thou  hadst  writ- 

174 


.-■: 


'Myles  found  himself  standing  beside  the  bed' 


ten  to  my  niece,  the  Lady  Alice.  I  have  it  here," 
said  he,  thrusting  his  hand  under  the  bolster, 
"and  have  just  now  finished  reading  it."  Then, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  whilst  he  opened  the 
parchment  and  scanned  it  again,  "  I  find  no  mat- 
ter of  harm  in  it,  but  hereafter  write  no  more 
such."  He  spoke  entirely  without  anger,  and 
Myles  looked  up  in  wonder.  "  Here,  take  it," 
said  the  Earl,  folding  the  letter  and  tossing  it  to 
Myles,  who  instinctively  caught  it,  "and  hence- 
forth trouble  thou  my  niece  no  more  either  by 
letter  or  any  other  way.  I  thought  haply  thou 
wouldst  be  at  some  such  saucy  trick,  and  I  made 
Alice  promise  to  let  me  know  when  it  happed. 
Now,  I  say,  let  this  be  an  end  of  the  matter.  Dost 
thou  not  know  thou  mayst  injure  her  by  such 
witless  folly  as  that  of  meeting  her  privily,  and 
privily  writing  to  her  ?" 

"  I  meant  no  harm,"  said  Myles. 

"  I  believe  thee,"  said  the  Earl.  "  That  will  do 
now ;  thou  mayst  go." 

Myles  hesitated. 

"What  wouldst  thou  say?"  said  Lord  Mack- 
worth. 

"  Only  this,"  said  Myles,  "  an  I  have  thy  leave 
so  to  do,  that  the  Lady  Alice  hath  chosen  me  to 
be  her  knight,  and  so,  whether  I  may  see  her  or 
speak  with  her  or  no,  the  laws  of  chivalry  give 

175 


me,  who  am  gentle  born,  the  right  to  serve  her  as 
a  true  knight  may." 

"  As  a  true  fool  may,"  said  the  Earl,  dryly. 
"  Why,  how  now,  thou  art  not  a  knight  yet,  nor 
anything  but  a  raw  lump  of  a  boy.  What  rights 
do  the  laws  of  chivalry  give  thee,  sirrah  ?  Thou 
art  a  fool !" 

Had  the  Earl  been  ever  so  angry,  his  words 
would  have  been  less  bitter  to  Myles  than  his 
cool,  unmoved  patience ;  it  mortified  his  pride 
and  galled  it  to  the  quick. 

"  I  know  that  thou  dost  hold  me  in  contempt," 
he  mumbled. 

"  Out  upon  thee !"  said  the  Earl,  testily.  "Thou 
dost  tease  me  beyond  patience.  I  hold  thee  in 
contempt,  forsooth  !  Why,  look  thee,  hadst  thou 
been  other  than  thou  art,  I  would  have  had  thee 
whipped  out  of  my  house  long  since.  Thinkest 
thou  I  would  have  borne  so  patiently  with  an- 
other one  of  ye  squires  had  such  an  one  held 
secret  meeting  with  my  daughter  and  niece,  and 
tampered,  as  thou  hast  done,  with  my  household, 
sending  through  one  of  my  people  that  letter  ? 
Go  to ;  thou  art  a  fool,  Myles  Falworth  !" 

Myles  stood  staring  at  the  Earl  without  mak- 
ing an  effort  to  speak.  The  words  that  he  had 
heard  suddenly  flashed,  as  it  were,  a  new  light 

into  his  mind.     In  that  flash  he  fully  recognized, 

176 


and  for  the  first  time,  the  strange  and  wonderful 
forbearance  the  great  Earl  had  shown  to  him,  a 
poor  obscure  boy.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Was 
Lord  Mackworth  his  secret  friend,  after  all,  as 
Gascoyne  had  more  than  once  asserted  ?  So 
Myles  stood  silent,  thinking  many  things. 

Meantime  the  other  lay  back  upon  the  cylindri- 
cal bolsters,  looking  thoughtfully  at  him.  "  How 
old  art  thou  ?"  said  he  at  last. 

"  Seventeen  last  April,"  answered  Myles. 

"  Then  thou  art  old  enough  to  have  some  of 
the  thoughts  of  a  man,  and  to  lay  aside  those  of  a 
boy.  Haply  thou  hast  had  foolish  things  in  thy 
head  this  short  time  past ;  it  is  time  that  thou 
put  them  away.  Harkee,  sirrah !  the  Lady  Alice 
is  a  great  heiress  in  her  own  right,  and  mayst 
command  the  best  alliance  in  England — an  Earl 
— a  Duke.  She  groweth  apace  to  a  woman,  and 
then  her  kind  lieth  in  Courts  and  great  houses. 
As  for  thee,  thou  art  but  a  poor  lad,  penniless  and 
without  friends  to  aid  thee  to  open  advancement. 
Thy  father  is  attainted,  and  one  whisper  of  where 
he  lieth  hid  would  bring  him  thence  to  the  Tower, 
and  haply  to  the  block.  Besides  that,  he  hath  an 
enemy,  as  Sir  James  Lee  hath  already  told  thee — 
an  enemy  perhaps  more  great  and  powerful  than 
myself.  That  enemy  watcheth  for  thy  father  and 
for  thee;  shouldst  thou  dare  raise  thy  head  or 
M  177 


thy  fortune  ever  so  little,  he  would  haply  crop 
them  both,  and  that  parlously  quick.  Myles  Fal- 
worth,  how  dost  thou  dare  to  lift  thine  eyes  to 
the  Lady  Alice  de  Mowbray  ?" 

Poor  Myles  stood  silent  and  motionless.  "  Sir," 
said  he  at  last,  in  a  dry  choking  voice,  "  thou  art 
right,  and  I  have  been  a  fool.  Sir,  I  will  never 
raise  mine  eyes  to  look  upon  the  Lady  Alice  more." 

"  I  say  not  that  either,  boy,"  said  the  Earl ;  "  but 
ere  thou  dost  so  dare,  thou  must  first  place  thy- 
self and  thy  family  whence  ye  fell.  Till  then,  as 
thou  art  an  honest  man,  trouble  her  not.  Now 
get  thee  gone." 

As  Myles  crossed  the  dark  and  silent  court- 
yards, and  looked  up  at  the  clear,  still  twinkle  of 
the  stars,  he  felt  a  kind  of  dull  wonder  that  they 
and  the  night  and  the  world  should  seem  so  much 
the  same,  and  he  be  so  different. 

The  first  stroke  had  been  given  that  was  to 
break  in  pieces  his  boyhood  life — the  second  was 
soon  to  follow. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

There  are  now  and  then  times  in  the  life  of 
every  one  when  new  and  strange  things  occur 
with  such  rapidity  that  one  has  hardly  time  to 
catch  one's  breath  between  the  happenings.  It 
is  as  though  the  old  were  crumbling  away — break- 
ing in  pieces — to  give  place  to  the  new  that  is 
soon  to  take  its  place. 

So  it  was  with  Myles  Falworth  about  this  time. 
The  very  next  day  after  this  interview  in  the  bed- 
chamber, word  came  to  him  that  Sir  James  Lee 
wished  to  speak  with  him  in  the  office.  He  found 
the  lean,  grizzled  old  knight  alone,  sitting  at  the 
heavy  oaken  table  with  a  tankard  of  spiced  ale  at 
his  elbow,  and  a  dish  of  wafers  and  some  frag- 
ments of  cheese  on  a  pewter  platter  before  him. 
He  pointed  to  his  clerk's  seat — a  joint  stool  some- 
what like  a  camp-chair,  but  made  of  heavy  oaken 
braces  and  with  a  seat  of  hog-skin — and  bade 
Myles  be  seated. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Myles  had  ever  heard 


*7Q 


of  such  courtesy  being  extended  to  one  of  the 
company  of  squires,  and,  much  wondering,  he 
obeyed  the  invitation,  or  rather  command,  and 
took  the  seat. 

The  old  knight  sat  regarding  him  for  a  while 
in  silence,  his  one  eye,  as  bright  and  as  steady  as 
that  of  a  hawk,  looking  keenly  from  under  the 
penthouse  of  its  bushy  brows,  the  while  he  slow- 
ly twirled  and  twisted  his  bristling  wiry  mustach- 
es, as  was  his  wont  when  in  meditation.  At  last 
he  broke  the  silence.  "  How  old  art  thou  ?"  said 
he,  abruptly. 

"  I  be  turned  seventeen  last  April,"  Myles  an- 
swered, as  he  had  the  evening  before  to  Lord 
Mackworth. 

"  Humph  !"  said  Sir  James ;  "  thou  be'st  big  oi 
bone  and  frame  for  thine  age.  I  would  that  thy 
heart  were  more  that  of  a  man  likewise,  and  less 
that  of  a  giddy,  hare-brained  boy,  thinking  contin- 
ually of  naught  but  mischief." 

Again  he  fell  silent,  and  Myles  sat  quite  still, 
wondering  if  it  was  on  account  of  any  special  one 
of  his  latest  escapades  that  he  had  been  sum- 
moned to  the  office — the  breaking  of  the  window 
in  the  Long  Hall  by  the  stone  he  had  flung  at 
the  rook,  or  the  climbing  of  the  South  Tower  for 
the  jackdaw's  nest. 

"  Thou  hast  a  friend,"  said  Sir  James,  suddenly 

1 80 


breaking  into  his  speculations,  "  of  such  a  kind 
that  few  in  this  world  possess.  Almost  ever  since 
thou  hast  been  here  he  hath  been  watching  over 
thee.     Canst  thou  guess  of  whom  I  speak  ?" 

"  Haply  it  is  Lord  George  Beaumont,"  said 
Myles ;  "  he  hath  always  been  passing  kind  to 
me." 

"  Nay,"  said  Sir  James,  "it  is  not  of  him  that  I 
speak,  though  methinks  he  liketh  thee  well  enow. 
Canst  thou  keep  a  secret,  boy?"  he  asked,  sud- 
denly. 

"  Yea,"  answered  Myles. 

"  And  wilt  thou  do  so  in  this  case  if  I  tell  thee 
who  it  is  that  is  thy  best  friend  here  ?" 

"  Yea." 

"Then  it  is  my  Lord  who  is  that  friend — the 
Earl  himself;  but  see  that  thou  breathe  not  a 
word  of  it." 

Myles  sat  staring  at  the  old  knight  in  utter 
and  profound  amazement,  and  presently  Sir  James 
continued : 

"Yea,  almost  ever  since  thou  hast  come  here 
my  Lord  hath  kept  oversight  upon  all  thy  doings, 
upon  all  thy  mad  pranks  and  thy  quarrels  and 
thy  fights,  thy  goings  out  and  comings  in.  What 
thinkest  thou  of  that,  Myles  Falworth  ?" 

Again  the  old  knight  stopped  and  regarded  the 
lad,  who  sat  silent,  rinding  no  words  to  answer. 

181 


He  seemed  to  find  a  grim  pleasure  in  the  young- 
ster's bewilderment  and  wonder.  Then  a  sudden 
thought  came  to  Myles. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  did  my  Lord  know  that  I  went 
to  the  privy  garden  as  I  did  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Sir  James ;  "  of  that  he  knew 
naught  at  first  until  thy  father  bade  thy  mother 
write  and  tell  him." 

"  My  father !"  ejaculated  Myles. 

"Aye,"  said  Sir  James,  twisting  his  mustaches 
more  vigorously  than  ever.  "  So  soon  as  thy  fa- 
ther heard  of  that  prank,  he  wrote  straightway  to 
my  Lord  that  he  should  put  a  stop  to  what  might 
in  time  have  bred  mischief." 

"  Sir,"  said  Myles,  in  an  almost  breathless  voice, 
"  I  know  not  how  to  believe  all  these  things,  or 
whether  I  be  awake  or  a-dreaming." 

"Thou  be'st  surely  enough  awake,"  answered 
the  old  man ;  "  but  there  are  other  matters  yet  to 
be  told.  My  Lord  thinketh,  as  others  of  us  do 
— Lord  George  and  myself — that  it  is  now  time 
for  thee  to  put  away  thy  boyish  follies,  and  learn 
those  things  appertaining  to  manhood.  Thou 
hast  been  here  a  year  now,  and  hast  had  freedom 
to  do  as  thou  might  list ;  but,  boy  " — and  the  old 
warrior  spoke  seriously,  almost  solemnly — "  upon 
thee  doth  rest  matters  of  such  great  import  that 

did  I  tell  them  to  thee  thou  couldst  not  grasp 

182 


them.  My  Lord  deems  that  thou  hast,  mayhap, 
promise  beyond  the  common  of  men;  ne'theless 
it  remaineth  yet  to  be  seen  an  he  be  right ;  it  is 
yet  to  test  whether  that  promise  may  be  fulfilled. 
Next  Monday  I  and  Sir  Everard  Willoughby 
take  thee  in  hand  to  begin  training  thee  in  the 
knowledge  and  the  use  of  the  jousting  lance,  of 
arms,  and  of  horsemanship.  Thou  art  to  go  to 
Ralph  Smith,  and  have  him  fit  a  suit  of  plain 
armor  to  thee  which  he  hath  been  charged  to 
make  for  thee  against  this  time.  So  get  thee 
gone,  think  well  over  all  these  matters,  and  pre- 
pare thyself  by  next  Monday.  But  stay,  sirrah," 
he  added,  as  Myles,  dazed  and  bewildered,  turned 
to  obey ;  "  breathe  to  no  living  soul  what  I  ha' 
told  thee — that  my  Lord  is  thy  friend — neither 
speak  of  anything  concerning  him.  Such  is  his 
own  heavy  command  laid  upon  thee." 

Then  Myles  turned  again  without  a  word  to 
leave  the  room.  But  as  he  reached  the  door  Sir 
James  stopped  him  a  second  time. 

"  Stay !"  he  called.  "  I  had  nigh  missed  telling 
thee  somewhat  else.  My  Lord  hath  made  thee  a 
present  this  morning  that  thou  wottest  not  of. 
It  is  " — then  he  stopped  for  a  few  moments,  per- 
haps to  enjoy  the  full  flavor  of  what  he  had  to 
say — "  it  is  a  great  Flemish  horse  of  true  breed 
and  right  mettle;  a  horse  such  as  a  knight  of  the 

183 


noblest  strain  might  be  proud  to  call  his  own. 
Myles  Falworth,  thou  wert  born  upon  a  lucky 
day !" 

"  Sir,"  cried  Myles,  and  then  stopped  short. 
Then,  "  Sir,"  he  cried  again,  "  didst  thou  say  it — 
the  horse — was  to  be  mine?" 

"Aye,  it  is  to  be  thine." 

"  My  very  own  ?" 

"  Thy  very  own." 

How  Myles  Falworth  left  that  place  he  never 
knew.  He  was  like  one  in  some  strange,  some 
wonderful  dream.  He  walked  upon  air,  and  his 
heart  was  so  full  of  joy  and  wonder  and  amaze- 
ment that  it  thrilled  almost  to  agony.  Of  course 
his  first  thought  was  of  Gascoyne.  How  he  ever 
found  him  he  never  could  tell,  but  find  him  he  did. 

"  Come,  Francis !"  he  cried,  "  I  have  that  to  tell 
thee  so  marvellous  that  had  it  come  upon  me 
from  paradise  it  could  not  be  more  strange." 

Then  he  dragged  him  away  to  their  Eyry — it 
had  been  many  a  long  day  since  they  had  been 
there — and  to  all  his  friend's  speeches,  to  all  his 
wondering  questions,  he  answered  never  a  word 
until  they  had  climbed  the  stairs,  and  so  come  to 
their  old  haunt.     Then  he  spoke. 

"Sit  thee  down,  Francis,"  said  he,  "till  I  tell 
thee  that  which  passeth  wonder."  As  Gascoyne 
obeyed,   he   himself   stood    looking   about   him. 

184 


"  This  is  the  last  time  I  shall  ever  come  hither," 
said  he.  And  thereupon  he  poured  out  his  heart 
to  his  listening  friend  in  the  murmuring  solitude 
of  the  airy  height.  He  did  not  speak  of  the  Earl, 
but  of  the  wonderful  new  life  that  had  thus  sud- 
denly opened  before  him,  with  its  golden  future 
of  limitless  hopes,  of  dazzling  possibilities,  of  he- 
roic ambitions.  He  told  everything,  walking  up 
and  down  the  while — for  he  could  not  remain 
quiet — his  cheeks  glowing  and  his  eyes  spark- 
ling. 

Gascoyne  sat  quite  still,  staring  straight  before 
him.  He  knew  that  his  friend  was  ruffling  eagle 
pinions  for  a  flight  in  which  he  could  never  hope 
to  follow,  and  somehow  his  heart  ached,  for  he 
knew  that  this  must  be  the  beginning  of  the  end 
of  the  dear,  delightful  friendship  of  the  year  past. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

And  so  ended  Myles  Falworth's  boyhood 
Three  years  followed,  during  which  he  passed 
through  that  state  which  immediately  follows 
boyhood  in  all  men's  lives — a  time  when  they  are 
neither  lads  nor  grown  men,  but  youths  passing 
from  the  one  to  the  other  period  through  what  is 
often  an  uncouth  and  uncomfortable  age. 

He  had  fancied,  when  he  talked  witb  Gascoyne 
in  the  Eyry  that  time,  that  he  was  to  become  a 
man  all  at  once;  he  felt  just  then  that  he  had  for- 
ever done  with  boyish  things.  But  that  is  not 
the  way  it  happens  in  men's  lives.  Changes  do 
not  come  so  suddenly  and  swiftly  as  that,  but  by 
little  and  little.  For  three  or  four  days,  maybe, 
he  went  his  new  way  of  life  big  with  the  great 
change  that  had  come  upon  him,  and  then,  now 
in  this  and  now  in  that,  he  drifted  back  very 
much  into  his  old  ways  of  boyish  doings.  As 
was  said,  one's  young  days  do  not  end  all  at  once, 
even  when  they  be  so  suddenly  and  sharply  shaken, 

186 


and  Myles  was  not  different  from  others.  He  had 
been  stirred  to  the  core  by  that  first  wonderful 
sight  of  the  great  and  glorious  life  of  manhood 
opening  before  him,  but  he  had  yet  many  a  sport 
to  enjoy,  many  a  game  to  play,  many  a  boisterous 
romp  to  riot  in  the  dormitor)',  many  an  expedi- 
tion to  make  to  copse  and  spinney  and  river  on 
days  when  he  was  off  duty,  and  when  permission 
had  been  granted. 

Nevertheless,  there  was  a  great  and  vital 
change  in  his  life;  a  change  which  he  hardly  felt 
or  realized.  Even  in  resuming  his  old  life  there 
was  no  longer  the  same  vitality,  the  same  zest, 
the  same  enjoyment  in  all  these  things.  It 
seemed  as  though  they  were  no  longer  a  part 
of  himself.  The  savor  had  gone  from  them,  and 
by-and-by  it  was  pleasanter  to  sit  looking  on  at 
the  sports  and  the  games  of  the  younger  lads 
than  to  take  active  part  in  them. 

These  three  years  of  his  life  that  had  thus 
passed  had  been  very  full ;  full  mostly  of  work, 
grinding  and  monotonous;  of  training  dull,  dry, 
laborious.  For  Sir  James  Lee  was  a  taskmaster 
as  hard  as  iron  and  seemingly  as  cold  as  a  stone. 
For  two,  perhaps  for  three,  weeks  Myles  entered 
into  his  new  exercises  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
that  novelty  brings ;  but  these  exercises  hardly 
varied  a  tittle  from  day  to  day,  and  soon  became 

187 


a  duty,  and  finally  a  hard  and  grinding  task.  He 
used,  in  the  earlier  days  of  his  castle  life,  to  hate 
the  dull  monotony  of  the  tri-weekly  hacking  at 
the  pels  with  a  heavy  broadsword  as  he  hated 
nothing  else;  but  now,  though  he  still  had  that 
exercise  to  perform,  it  was  almost  a  relief  from 
the  heavy  dulness  of  riding,  riding,  riding  in  the 
tilt-yard  with  shield  and  lance — couch — recover 
— en  passant. 

But  though  he  had  nowadays  but  little  time 
for  boyish  plays  and  escapades,  his  life  was  not 
altogether  without  relaxation.  Now  and  then  he 
was  permitted  to  drive  in  mock  battle  with  other 
of  the  younger  knights  and  bachelors  in  the  pad- 
dock near  the  outer  walls.  It  was  a  still  more 
welcome  change  in  the  routine  of  his  life  when, 
occasionally,  he  would  break  a  light  lance  in  the 
tilting-court  with  Sir  Everard  Willoughby  ;  Lord 
George,  perhaps,  and  maybe  one  or  two  others 
of  the  Hall  folk,  looking  on. 

Then  one  gilded  day,  when  Lord  Dudleigh 
was  visiting  at  Devlen,  Myles  ran  a  course  with 
a  heavier  lance  in  the  presence  of  the  Earl,  who 
came  down  to  the  tilt-yard  with  his  guest  to  see 
the  young  novitiate  ride  against  Sir  Everard. 
He  did  his  best,  and  did  it  well.  Lord  Dudleigh 
praised  his  poise  and  carriage,  and  Lord  George, 
who  was  present,  gave  him  an  approving  smile 


and  nod.  But  the  Earl  of  Mackworth  only  sat 
stroking  his  beard  impassively,  as  was  his  cus- 
tom. Myles  would  have  given  much  to  know 
his  thoughts. 

In  all  these  years  Sir  James  Lee  almost  never 
gave  any  expression  either  of  approbation  or  dis- 
approval— excepting  when  Myles  exhibited  some 
carelessness  or  oversight.  Then  his  words  were 
sharp  and  harsh  enough.  More  than  once 
Myles's  heart  failed  him,  and  bitter  discourage- 
ment took  possession  of  him;  then  nothing  but 
his  bull-dog  tenacity  and  stubbornness  brought 
him  out  from  the  despondency  of  the  dark 
hours. 

"  Sir,"  he  burst  out  one  day,  when  his  heart 
was  heavy  with  some  failure,  "  tell  me,  I  beseech 
thee,  do  I  get  me  any  of  skill  at  all?  Is  it  in  me 
ever  to  make  a  worthy  knight,  fit  to  hold  lance 
and  sword  with  other  men,  or  am  I  only  soothly 
a  dull  heavy  block,  worth  naught  of  any  good?" 

"  Thou  art  a  fool,  sirrah !"  answered  Sir  James, 
in  his  grimmest  tones.  "  Thinkest  thou  to  learn 
all  of  knightly  prowess  in  a  year  and  a  half? 
Wait  until  thou  art  ripe,  and  then  I  will  tell  thee 
if  thou  art  fit  to  couch  a  lance  or  ride  a  course 
with  a  right  knight." 

"  Thou  art  an  old  bear !"  muttered   Myles  to 

himself,  as  the  old  one-eyed  knight  turned  on  his 

189 


heel  and  strode  away.  "  Beshrew  me!  an  I  show 
thee  not  that  I  am  as  worthy  to  couch  a  lance  as 
thou  one  of  these  fine  days!" 

However,  during  the  last  of  the  three  years 
the  grinding  routine  of  his  training  had  not  been 
quite  so  severe  as  at  first.  His  exercises  took 
him  more  often  out  into  the  fields,  and  it  was 
during  this  time  of  his  knightly  education  that 
he  sometimes  rode  against  some  of  the  castle 
knights  in  friendly  battle  with  sword  or  lance  or 
wooden  mace.  In  these  encounters  he  always 
held  his  own;  and  held  it  more  than  well,  though, 
in  his  boyish  simplicity,  he  was  altogether  un- 
conscious of  his  own  skill,  address,  and  strength. 
Perhaps  it  was  his  very  honest  modesty  that 
made  him  so  popular  and  so  heartily  liked  by  all. 

He  had  by  this  time  risen  to  the  place  of  head 
squire  or  chief  bachelor,  holding  the  same  posi- 
tion that  Walter  Blunt  had  occupied  when  he 
himself  had  first  come,  a  raw  country  boy,  to 
Devlen.  The  lesser  squires  and  pages  fairly  wor- 
shipped him  as  a  hero,  albeit  imposing  upon  his 
good-nature.  All  took  a  pride  in  his  practice  in 
knightly  exercises,  and  fabulous  tales  were  cur- 
rent among  the  young  fry  concerning  his  strength 
and  skill. 

Yet,  although  Myles  was  now  at  the  head  of 

his  class,  he  did  not,  as  other  chief  bachelors  had 

190 


done,  take  a  leading  position  among  the  squires 
in  the  Earl's  household  service.  Lord  Mack- 
worth,  for  his  own  good  reasons,  relegated  him  to 
the  position  of  Lord  George's  especial  attendant. 
Nevertheless,  the  Earl  always  distinguished  him 
from  the  other  esquires,  giving  him  a  cool  nod 
whenever  they  met;  and  Myles,  upon  his  part — 
now  that  he  had  learned  better  to  appreciate  how 
much  his  Lord  had  done  for  him — would  have 
shed  the  last  drop  of  blood  in  his  veins  for  the 
head  of  the  house  of  Beaumont. 

As  for  the  two  young  ladies,  he  often  saw 
them,  and  sometimes,  even  in  the  presence  of 
the  Earl,  exchanged  a  few  words  with  them,  and 
Lord  Mackworth  neither  forbade  it  nor  seemed 
to  notice  it. 

Towards  the  Lady  Anne  he  felt  the  steady 
friendly  regard  of  a  lad  for  a  girl  older  than  him- 
self ;  towards  the  Lady  Alice,  now  budding  into 
ripe  young  womanhood,  there  lay  deep  in  his 
heart  the  resolve  to  be  some  day  her  true  knight 
in  earnest  as  he  had  been  her  knight  in  pre- 
tence in  that  time  of  boyhood  when  he  had  so 
perilously  climbed  into  the  privy  garden. 

In  body  and  form  he  was  now  a  man,  and  in 
thought  and  heart  was  quickly  ripening  to  man- 
hood, for,  as  was  said  before,  men  matured  quickly 

in  those  days.     He  was  a  right  comely  youth,  for 

191 


the  promise  of  his  boyish  body  had  been  fulfilled 
in  a  tall,  powerful,  well-knit  frame.  His  face  was 
still  round  and  boyish,  but  on  cheek  and  chin 
and  lip  was  the  curl  of  adolescent  beard — soft, 
yellow,  and  silky.  His  eyes  were  as  blue  as  steel, 
and  quick  and  sharp  in  glance  as  those  of  a  hawk ; 
and  as  he  walked,  his  arms  swung  from  his  broad, 
square  shoulders,  and  his  body  swayed  with  pent- 
up  strength  ready  for  action  at  any  moment. 

If  little  Lady  Alice,  hearing  much  talk  of  his 
doings  and  of  his  promise  in  these  latter  times, 
thought  of  him  now  and  then  it  is  a  matter  not 
altogether  to  be  wondered  at. 

Such  were  the  changes  that  three  years  had 
wrought.  And  from  now  the  story  of  his  man- 
hood really  begins. 

Perhaps  in  all  the  history  of  Devlen  Castle, 

even  at  this,  the  high  tide  of  pride  and  greatness 

of  the  house  of  Beaumont,  the  most  notable  time 

was  in  the  early  autumn  of  the  year  141 1,  when 

for  five  days  King  Henry  IV.  was  entertained  by 

the  Earl  of  Mackworth.     The  King  was  at  that 

time  making  a  progress  through  certain  of  the 

midland    counties,  and    with    him    travelled    the 

Comte  de  Vermoise.     The  Count  was  the  secret 

emissary  of  the  Dauphin's  faction  in  France,  at 

that  time  in  the  very  bitterest  intensity  of  the 

192 


The  Earl  of  Mackworth  received  King  Henry  IV 


struggle  with  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  had 
come  to  England  seeking  aid  for  his  master  in 
his  quarrel. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  royalty  had  vis- 
ited Devlen.  Once,  in  Earl  Robert's  day,  King 
Edward  II.  had  spent  a  week  at  the  castle  during 
the  period  of  the  Scottish  wars.  But  at  that  time 
it  was  little  else  than  a  military  post,  and  was 
used  by  the  King  as  such.  Now  the  Beaumonts 
were  in  the  very  flower  of  their  prosperity,  and 
preparations  were  made  for  the  coming  visit  of 
royalty  upon  a  scale  of  such  magnificence  and 
splendor  as  Earl  Robert,  or  perhaps  even  King 
Edward  himself,  had  never  dreamed. 

For  weeks  the  whole  castle  had  been  alive  with 
folk  hurrying  hither  and  thither;  and  with  the 
daily  and  almost  hourly  coming  of  pack-horses, 
laden  with  bales  and  boxes,  from  London.  From 
morning  to  night  one  heard  the  ceaseless  chip- 
chipping  of  the  masons'  hammers,  and  saw  car- 
riers of  stones  and  mortar  ascending  and  de- 
scending the  ladders  of  the  scaffolding  that  cov- 
ered the  face  of  the  great  North  Hall.  With- 
in, that  part  of  the  building  was  alive  with  the 
scraping  of  the  carpenters'  saws,  the  clattering  of 
lumber,  and  the  rapping  and  banging  of  hammers. 

The  North  Hall  had  been  assigned  as  the 
lodging  place  for  the  King  and   his  court,  and 

N  I Q3 


St.  George's  Hall  (as  the  older  building  adjoin- 
ing it  was  called)  had  been  set  apart  as  the 
lodging  of  the  Comte  de  Vermoise  and  the 
knights  and  gentlemen  attendant  upon  him. 

The  great  North  Hall  had  been  very  much  al- 
tered and  changed  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
King  and  his  people;  a  beautiful  gallery  of  carved 
wood-work  had  been  built  within  and  across  the 
south  end  of  the  room  for  the  use  of  the  ladies 
who  were  to  look  down  upon  the  ceremonies 
below.  Two  additional  windows  had  been  cut 
through  the  wall  and  glazed,  and  passage-ways 
had  been  opened  connecting  with  the  royal  apart- 
ments beyond.  In  the  bedchamber  a  bed  of 
carved  wood  and  silver  had  been  built  into  the 
wall,  and  had  been  draped  with  hangings  of 
pale  blue  and  silver,  and  a  magnificent  screen 
of  wrought -iron  and  carved  wood  had  been 
erected  around  the  couch ;  rich  and  beautiful 
tapestries  brought  from  Italy  and  Flanders  were 
hung  upon  the  walls ;  cushions  of  velvets  and 
silks  stuffed  with  down  covered  benches  and 
chairs.  The  floor  of  the  hall  was  spread  with 
mats  of  rushes  stained  in  various  colors,  woven 
into  curious  patterns ;  and  in  the  smaller  rooms 
precious  carpets  of  arras  were  laid  on  the  cold 
stones. 

All  of  the  cadets  of  the  House  had  been  as- 
194 


sembled;  all  of  the  gentlemen  in  waiting,  retain- 
ers and  clients.  The  castle  seemed  full  to  over- 
flowing; even  the  dormitory  of  the  squires  was 
used  as  a  lodging  place  for  many  of  the  lesser 
gentry. 

So  at  last,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  bustle  of 
preparation,  came  the  day  of  days  when  the  King 
was  to  arrive.  The  day  before  a  courier  had  come 
bringing  the  news  that  he  was  lodging  at  Donas- 
ter  Abbey  overnight,  and  would  make  progress 
the  next  day  to  Devlen. 

That  morning,  as  Myles  was  marshalling  the 
pages  and  squires,  and,  with  the  list  of  names 
in  his  hand,  was  striving  to  evolve  some  order 
out  of  the  confusion,  assigning  the  various  indi- 
viduals their  special  duties — these  to  attend  in 
the  household,  those  to  ride  in  the  escort — one 
of  the  gentlemen  of  Lord  George's  household 
came  with  an  order  for  him  to  come  immediately 
to  the  young  nobleman's  apartments.  Myles 
hastily  turned  over  his  duties  to  Gascoyne  and 
Wilkes,  and  then  hurried  after  the  messenger. 
He  found  Lord  George  in  the  antechamber, 
three  gentlemen  squires  arming  him  in  a  mag- 
nificent suit  of  ribbed  Milan. 

He  greeted  Myles  with  a  nod  and  a  smile  as 
the  lad  entered.  "  Sirrah,"  said  he,  "  I  have  had 
a  talk  with  Mackworth  this  morn  concerning  thee, 

195 


and  have  a  mind  to  do  thee  an  honor  in  my  poor 
way.  How  wouldst  thou  like  to  ride  to-day  as 
my  special  squire  of  escort  ?" 

Myles  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  "  Oh, 
sir !"  he  cried,  eagerly,  "  an  I  be  not  too  ungainly 
for  thy  purpose,  no  honor  in  all  the  world  could 
be  such  joy  to  me  as  that !" 

Lord  George  laughed.  "  A  little  matter  pleases 
thee  hugely,"  said  he ;  "  but  as  to  being  ungainly, 
who  so  sayeth  that  of  thee  belieth  thee,  Myles ; 
thou  art  not  ungainly,  sirrah.  But  that  is  not  to 
the  point.  I  have  chosen  thee  for  my  equerry 
to-day ;  so  make  thou  haste  and  don  thine  armor, 
and  then  come  hither  again,  and  Hollingwood  will 
fit  thee  with  a  wreathed  bascinet  I  have  within, 
and  a  juppon  embroidered  with  my  arms  and  col- 
ors." 

When  Myles  had  made  his  bow  and  left  his 
patron,  he  flew  across  the  quadrangle,  and  burst 
into  the  armory  upon  Gascoyne,  whom  he  found 
still  lingering  there,  chatting  with  one  or  two  of 
the  older  bachelors. 

"What  thinkest  thou,  Francis?"  he  cried, wild 
with  excitement.  "An  honor  hath  been  done 
me  this  day  I  could  never  have  hoped  to  enjoy. 
Out  of  all  this  household,  Lord  George  hath 
chosen   me  his   equerry  for  the   day  to  ride  to 

meet  the   King.     Come,  hasten  to  help  me  to 

196 


arm !  Art  thou  not  glad  of  this  thing  for  my 
sake,  Francis?" 

"Aye,  glad  am  I  indeed!"  cried  Gascoyne,  that 
generous  friend  ;  "  rather  almost  would  I  have  this 
befall  thee  than  myself !"  And  indeed  he  was 
hardly  less  jubilant  than  Myles  over  the  honor. 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  busy  arming  him  in 
the  little  room  at  the  end  of  the  dormitory  which 
had  been  lately  set  apart  for  the  use  of  the  head 
bachelor.  "And  to  think,"  he  said,  looking  up 
as  he  kneeled,  strapping  the  thigh-plates  to  his 
friend's  legs,  "  that  he  should  have  chosen  thee 
before  all  others  of  the  fine  knights  and  lords  and 
gentlemen  of  quality  that  are  here !" 

"  Yea,"  said  Myles,  "  it  passeth  wonder.  I  know 
not  why  he  should  so  single  me  out  for  such  an 
honor.     It  is  strangely  marvellous." 

"  Nay,"  said  Gascoyne,  "  there  is  no  marvel  in 
it,  and  I  know  right  well  why  he  chooseth  thee. 
It  is  because  he  sees,  as  we  all  see,  that  thou  art 
the  stoutest  and  the  best-skilled  in  arms,  and 
most  easy  of  carriage  of  any  man  in  all  this 
place." 

Myles  laughed.  "An  thou  make  sport  of  me," 
said  he,  "  I'll  rap  thy  head  with  this  dagger  hilt. 
Thou  art  a  silly  fellow,  Francis,  to  talk  so.  But 
tell  me,  hast  thou  heard  who  rides  with  my 
Lord  ?" 

197 


"  Yea ;  I  heard  Wilkes  say  anon  that  it  was  Sir 
James  Lee." 

"  I  am  right  glad  of  that,"  said  Myles ;  "  for  then 
he  will  show  me  what  to  do  and  how  to  bear 
myself.  It  frights  me  to  think  what  would  hap 
should  I  make  some  mistake  in  my  awkward- 
ness. Methinks  Lord  George  would  never  have 
me  with  him  more  should  I  do  amiss  this  day." 

"  Never  fear,"  said  Gascoyne ;  "  thou  wilt  not 
do  amiss." 

And  now,  at  last,  the  Earl,  Lord  George,  and 
all  their  escort  were  ready;  then  the  orders  were 
given  to  horse,  the  bugle  sounded,  and  away  they 
all  rode,  with  clashing  of  iron  hoofs  and  ringing 
and  jingling  of  armor,  out  into  the  dewy  freshness 
of  the  early  morning,  the  slant  yellow  sun  of  au- 
tumn blazing  and  flaming  upon  polished  helmets 
and  shields,  and  twinkling  like  sparks  of  fire  upon 
spear  points.  Myles's  heart  thrilled  within  him 
for  pure  joy,  and  he  swelled  out  his  sturdy  young 
breast  with  great  draughts  of  the  sweet  fresh  air 
that  came  singing  across  the  sunny  hill-tops. 
Sir  James  Lee,  who  acted  as  the  Earl's  equerry 
for  the  day,  rode  at  a  little  distance,  and  there 
was  an  almost  pathetic  contrast  between  the 
grim,  steadfast  impassiveness  of  the  tough  old 
warrior  and   Myles's   passionate   exuberance   of 

youth. 

198 


At  the  head  of  the  party  rode  the  Earl  and  his 
brother  side  by  side,  each  clad  cap-a-pie  in  a  suit 
of  Milan  armor,  the  cuirass  of  each  covered  with 
a  velvet  juppon  embroidered  in  silver  with  the 
arms  and  quarterings  of  the  Beaumonts.  The 
Earl  wore  around  his  neck  an  "  S  S  "  collar,  with 
a  jewelled  St.  George  hanging  from  it,  and  upon 
his  head  a  vizored  bascinet,  ornamented  with  a 
wreath  covered  with  black  and  yellow  velvet  and 
glistening  with  jewels. 

Lord  George,  as  was  said  before,  was  clad  in 
a  beautiful  suit  of  ribbed  Milan  armor.  It  was 
rimmed  with  a  thin  thread  of  gold,  and,  like  his 
brother,  he  wore  a  bascinet  wreathed  with  black 
and  yellow  velvet. 

Behind  the  two  brothers  and  their  equerries 
rode  the  rest  in  their  proper  order — knights,  gen- 
tlemen, esquires,  men-at-arms  —  to  the  number, 
perhaps,  of  two  hundred  and  fifty ;  spears  and 
lances  aslant,  and  banners,  pennons,  and  pencels 
of  black  and  yellow  fluttering  in  the  warm  Sep- 
tember air. 

From  the  castle  to  the  town  they  rode,  and 
then  across  the  bridge,  and  thence  clattering  up 
through  the  stony  streets,  where  the  folk  looked 
down  upon  them  from  the  windows  above,  or 
crowded  the  fronts  of  the  shops  of  the  tradesmen. 
Lusty  cheers  were  shouted  for  the  Earl,  but  the 


great  Lord  rode  staring  ever  straight  before  him, 
as  unmoved  as  a  stone.  Then  out  of  the  town 
they  clattered,  and  away  in  a  sweeping  cloud  of 
dust  across  the  country-side. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  reached  the  windy 
top  of  Willoughby  Croft,  ten  miles  away,  that 
they  met  the  King  and  his  company.  As  the 
two  parties  approached  to  within  forty  or  fifty 
yards  of  one  another  they  stopped. 

As  they  came  to  a  halt,  Myles  observed  that  a 
gentleman  dressed  in  a  plain  blue-gray  riding- 
habit,  and  sitting  upon  a  beautiful  white  gelding, 
stood  a  little  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  the  party, 
and  he  knew  that  that  must  be  the  King.  Then 
Sir  James  nodded  to  Myles,  and  leaping  from  his 
horse,  flung  the  reins  to  one  of  the  attendants. 
Myles  did  the  like ;  and  then,  still  following  Sir 
James's  lead  as  he  served  Lord  Mackworth,  went 
forward  and  held  Lord  George's  stirrup  while 
he  dismounted.  The  two  noblemen  quickly  re- 
moved each  his  bascinet,  and  Myles,  holding  the 
bridle-rein  of  Lord  George's  horse  with  his  left 
hand,  took  the  helmet  in  his  right,  resting  it 
upon  his  hip. 

Then  the  two  brothers  walked  forward  bare- 
headed, the  Earl  a  little  in  advance.  Reaching 
the  King  he  stopped,  and  then  bent  his  knee — 
stiffly  in  the  armored  plates — until  it  touched  the 


ground.  Thereupon  the  King  reached  him  his 
hand,  and  he,  rising  again,  took  it,  and  set  it  to 
his  lips. 

Then  Lord  George,  advancing,  kneeled  as  his 
brother  had  kneeled,  and  to  him  also  the  King 
gave  his  hand. 

Myles  could  hear  nothing,  but  he  could  see 
that  a  few  words  of  greeting  passed  between  the 
three,  and  then  the  King,  turning,  beckoned  to  a 
knight  who  stood  just  behind  him  and  a  little  in 
advance  of  the  others  of  the  troop.  In  answer, 
the  knight  rode  forward ;  the  King  spoke  a  few 
words  of  introduction,  and  the  stranger,  ceremo- 
niously drawing  off  his  right  gauntlet,  clasped 
the  hand,  first  of  the  Earl,  and  then  of  Lord 
George.  Myles  knew  that  he  must  be  the  great 
Comte  de  Vermoise,  of  whom  he  had  heard  so 
much  of  late. 

A  few  moments  of  conversation  followed,  and 
then  the  King  bowed  slightly.  The  French  no- 
bleman instantly  reined  back  his  horse,  an  order 
was  given,  and  then  the  whole  company  moved 
forward,  the  two  brothers  walking  upon  either 
side  of  the  King,  the  Earl  lightly  touching  the 
bridle-rein  with  his  bare  hand. 

Whilst  all  this  was  passing,  the  Earl  of  Mack- 
worth's  company  had  been  drawn  up  in  a  double 
line  along  the  road -side,  leaving  the  way  open 


20I 


to  the  other  party.  As  the  King  reached  the 
head  of  the  troop,  another  halt  followed  while 
he  spoke  a  few  courteous  words  of  greeting  to 
some  of  the  lesser  nobles  attendant  upon  the 
Earl  whom  he  knew. 

In  that  little  time  he  was  within  a  few  paces 
of  Myles,  who  stood  motionless  as  a  statue,  hold- 
ing the  bascinet  and  the  bridle-rein  of  Lord 
George's  horse. 

What  Myles  saw  was  a  plain,  rather  stout  man, 
with  a  face  fat,  smooth,  and  waxy,  with  pale-blue 
eyes,  and  baggy  in  the  lids ;  clean  shaven,  except 
for  a  mustache  and  tuft  covering  lips  and  chin. 
Somehow  he  felt  a  deep  disappointment.  He  had 
expected  to  see  something  lion -like,  something 
regal,  and,  after  all,  the  great  King  Henry  was 
commonplace,  fat,  unwholesome-looking.  It  came 
to  him  with  a  sort  of  a  shock  that,  after  all,  a 
King  was  in  nowise  different  from  other  men. 

Meanwhile  the  Earl  and  his  brother  replaced 
their  bascinets,  and  presently  the  whole  party 
moved  forward  upon  the  way  to  Mackworth. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

That  same  afternoon  the  squires'  quarters 
were  thrown  into  such  a  ferment  of  excitement 
as  had,  perhaps,  never  before  stirred  them.  About 
one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  Earl  himself 
and  Lord  George  came  walking  slowly  across  the 
Armory  Court  wrapped  in  deep  conversation,  and 
entered  Sir  James  Lee's  office. 

All  the  usual  hubbub  of  noise  that  surrounded 
the  neighborhood  of  the  dormitory  and  the  ar- 
mory was  stilled  at  their  coming,  and  when  the 
two  noblemen  had  entered  Sir  James's  office,  the 
lads  and  young  men  gathered  in  knots  discuss- 
ing with  an  almost  awesome  interest  what  that 
visit  might  portend. 

After  some  time  Sir  James  Lee  came  to  the 
door  at  the  head  of  the  long  flight  of  stone  steps, 
and  whistling,  beckoned  one  of  the  smaller  pages 
to  him.  He  gave  a  short  order  that  sent  the  lit- 
tle fellow  flying  on  some  mission.     In  the  course 

of  a  few  minutes  he  returned,  hurrying  across 

203 


the  stony  court  with  Myles  Falworth,  who  pres- 
ently entered  Sir  James's  office.  It  was  then 
and  at  this  sight  that  the  intense  half-suppressed 
excitement  reached  its  height  of  fever -heat. 
What  did  it  all  mean  ?  The  air  was  filled  with 
a  thousand  vague,  wild  rumors  —  but  the  very 
wildest  surmises  fell  short  of  the  real  truth. 

Perhaps  Myles  was  somewhat  pale  when  he 
entered  the  office ;  certainly  his  nerves  were  in  a 
tremor,  for  his  heart  told  him  that  something 
very  portentous  was  about  to  befall  him.  The 
Earl  sat  at  the  table,  and  in  the  seat  that  Sir 
James  Lee  usually  occupied;  Lord  George  half 
sat,  half  leaned  in  the  window-place.  Sir  James 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  empty  fireplace,  and 
his  hands  clasped  behind  him.  All  three  were 
very  serious. 

"  Give  thee  good  den,  Myles  Falworth,"  said 
the  Earl,  as  Myles  bowed  first  to  him  and  then 
to  the  others;  "and  I  would  have  thee  prepare 
thyself  for  a  great  happening."  Then,  continu- 
ing directly  to  the  point :  "  Thou  knowest,  sirrah, 
why  we  have  been  training  thee  so  closely  these 
three  years  gone ;  it  is  that  thou  shouldst  be 
able  to  hold  thine  own  in  the  world.  Nay,  not 
only  hold  thine  own,  but  to  show  thyself  to  be  a 
knight  of  prowess  shouldst  it  come  to  a  battle 

between  thee  and  thy  father's  enemy ;  for  there 

204 


lieth  no  half-way  place  for  thee,  and  thou  must 
be  either  great  or  else  nothing.  Well,  sir,  the 
time  hath  now  come  for  thee  to  show  thy  mettle. 
I  would  rather  have  chosen  that  thou  hadst  la- 
bored a  twelvemonth  longer ;  but  now,  as  I  said, 
hath  come  a  chance  to  prove  thyself  that  may 
never  come  again.  Sir  James  tells  me  that  thou 
art  passably  ripe  in  skill.  Thou  must  now  show 
whether  that  be  so  or  no.  Hast  thou  ever  heard 
of  the  Sieur  da  la  Montaigne  ?" 

"  Yea,  my  Lord.  I  have  heard  of  him  often," 
answered  Myles.  It  was  he  who  won  the  prize 
at  the  great  tourney  at  Rochelle  last  year." 

"  I  see  that  thou  hast  his  fame  pat  to  thy 
tongue's  end,"  said  the  Earl ;  "  he  is  the  cheva- 
lier of  whom  I  speak,  and  he  is  reckoned  the 
best  knight  of  Dauphiny.  That  one  of  which 
thou  spokest  was  the  third  great  tourney  in 
which  he  was  adjudged  the  victor.  I  am  glad 
that  thou  holdest  his  prowess  highly.  Knowest 
thou  that  he  is  in  the  train  of  the  Comte  de  Ver- 
moise  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles,  flushing ;  "  I  did  hear  news 
he  was  in  England,  but  knew  not  that  he  was  in 
this  place." 

"  Yea,"  said  Lord  Mackworth ;  "  he  is  here." 
He  paused  for  a  moment ;   then  said,  suddenly, 

"  Tell  me,  Myles  Falworth,  an  thou  wert  a  knight 

205 


and  of  rank  fit  to  run  a  joust  with  the  Sieur  de 
la  Montaigne,  wouldst  thou  dare  encounter  him 
in  the  lists  ?" 

The  Earl's  question  fell  upon  Myles  so  sud- 
denly and  unexpectedly  that  for  a  moment  or 
so  he  stood  staring  at  the  speaker  with  mouth 
agape.  Meanwhile  the  Earl  sat  looking  calmly 
back  at  him,  slowly  stroking  his  beard  the  while. 

It  was  Sir  James  Lee's  voice  that  broke  the 
siience.  "  Thou  heardst  thy  Lord  speak,"  said 
he,  harshly.  "  Hast  thou  no  tongue  to  answer, 
sirrah  ?" 

"  Be  silent,  Lee,"  said  Lord  Mackworth,  quiet- 
ly. "  Let  the  lad  have  time  to  think  before  he 
speaketh." 

The  sound  of  the  words  aroused  Myles.  He 
advanced  to  the  table,  and  rested  his  hand  upon 
it.  "  My  Lord — my  Lord,"  said  he,  "  I  know  not 
what  to  say,  I — I  am  amazed  and  afeard." 

"  How !  how !"  cried  Sir  James  Lee,  harshly. 
"Afeard,  sayst  thou  ?  An  thou  art  afeard,  thou 
knave,  thou  needst  never  look  upon  my  face  or 
speak  to  me  more !  I  have  done  with  thee  for- 
ever an  thou  art  afeard  even  were  the  champion 
a  Sir  Alisander." 

"  Peace,  peace,  Lee,"  said  the  Earl,  holding  up 
his  hand.     "  Thou  art  too  hasty.     The  lad  shall 

have  his  will  in  this  matter,  and  thou  and  no  one 

206 


shall  constrain  him.  Methinks,  also,  thou  dost 
not  understand  him.  Speak  from  thy  heart, 
Myles  ;  why  art  thou  afraid  ?" 

"  Because,"  said  Myles,  "  I  am  so  young,  sir ;  I 
am  but  a  raw  boy.  How  should  I  dare  be  so 
hardy  as  to  venture  to  set  lance  against  such  an 
one  as  the  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne  ?  What  would 
I  be  but  a  laughing-stock  for  all  the  world  who 
would  see  me  so  foolish  as  to  venture  me  against 
one  of  such  prowess  and  skill  ? 

"  Nay,  Myles,"  said  Lord  George,  "  thou  think- 
est  not  well  enough  of  thine  own  skill  and  prow- 
ess. Thinkest  thou  we  would  undertake  to  set 
thee  against  him,  an  we  did  not  think  that  thou 
couldst  hold  thine  own  fairly  well  ?" 

"  Hold  mine  own  ?"  cried  Myles,  turning  to 
Lord  George.  "Sir;  thou  dost  not  mean — thou 
canst  not  mean,  that  I  may  hope  or  dream  to 
hold  mine  own  against  the  Sieur  de  la  Mon- 
taigne." 

"Aye,"  said  Lord  George,  "  that  was  what  I  did 
mean." 

"Come,  Myles,"  said  the  Earl;  "now  tell  me: 
wilt  thou  fight  the  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne  ?" 

"  Yea,"  said  Myles,  drawing  himself  to  his  full 

height  and  throwing  out  his  chest.     "  Yea,"  and 

his  cheeks  and  forehead  flushed  red;  uan  thou 

bid  me  do  so,  I  will  fight  him." 

207 


"  There  spake  my  brave  lad !"  cried  Lord 
George,  heartily. 

"  I  give  thee  joy,  Myles,"  said  the  Earl,  reach- 
ing him  his  hand,  which  Myles  took  and  kissed. 
"And  I  give  thee  double  joy.  I  have  talked 
with  the  King  concerning  thee  this  morning, 
and  he  hath  consented  to  knight  thee — yea,  to 
knight  thee  with  all  honors  of  the  Bath  —  pro- 
vided thou  wilt  match  thee  against  the  Sieur 
de  la  Montaigne  for  the  honor  of  England  and 
Mackworth.  Just  now  the  King  lieth  to  sleep 
for  a  little  while  after  his  dinner;  have  thyself 
in  readiness  when  he  cometh  forth,  and  I  will 
have  thee  presented." 

Then  the  Earl  turned  to  Sir  James  Lee,  and 
questioned  him  as  to  how  the  bachelors  were 
fitted  with  clothes.  Myles  listened,  only  half 
hearing  the  words  through  the  tumbling  of  his 
thoughts.  He  had  dreamed  in  his  day-dreams 
that  some  time  he  might  be  knighted,  but  that 
time  always  seemed  very,  very  distant.  To  be 
knighted  now,  in  his  boyhood,  by  the  King,  with 
the  honors  of  the  Bath,  and  under  the  patron- 
age of  the  Earl  of  Mackworth;  to  joust — to  act- 
ually joust — with  the  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne,  one 
of  the  most  famous  chevaliers  of  France!  No 
wonder  he  only  half  heard  the  words ;  half  heard 

the  Earl's  questions  concerning  his  clothes  and 

208 


the  discussion  which  followed;  half  heard  Lord 
George  volunteer  to  array  him  in  fitting  gar- 
ments from  his  own  wardrobe. 

"  Thou  mayst  go  now,"  said  the  Earl,  at  last 
turning  to  him.  "  But  be  thou  at  George's  apart- 
ments by  two  of  the  clock  to  be  dressed  fittingly 
for  the  occasion." 

Then  Myles  went  out  stupefied,  dazed,  bewil- 
dered. He  looked  around,  but  he  did  not  see 
Gascoyne.  He  said  not  a  word  to  any  of  the 
others  in  answer  to  the  eager  questions  poured 
upon  him  by  his  fellow-squires,  but  walked  straight 
away.  He  hardly  knew  where  he  went,  but  by- 
and-by  he  found  himself  in  a  grassy  angle  below 
the  end  of  the  south  stable;  a  spot  overlooking 
the  outer  wall  and  the  river  beyond.  He  looked 
around;  no  one  was  near,  and  he  flung  himself 
at  length,  burying  his  face  in  his  arms.  How 
long  he  lay  there  he  did  not  know,  but  suddenly 
some  one  touched  him  upon  the  shoulder,  and 
he  sprang  up  quickly.     It  was  Gascoyne. 

"What  is  to  do,  Myles?"  said  his  friend,  anx- 
iously. "What  is  all  this  talk  I  hear  concern- 
ing thee  up  yonder  at  the  armory?" 

"Oh,  Francis!"  cried  Myles,  with  a  husky  chok- 
ing voice;  "I  am  to  be  knighted — by  the  King 
— by  the  King  himself;  and  I — I  am  to  fight  the 
Sieur  de  la  Montaigne." 

o  2og 


He  reached  out  his  hand,  and  Gascoyne  took  it. 
They  stood  for  a  while  quite  silent,  and  when  at 
last  the  stillness  was  broken,  it  was  Gascoyne  who 
spoke,  in  a  choking  voice. 

"Thou  art  going  to  be  great,  Myles,"  said  he. 
"  I  always  knew  that  it  must  be  so  with  thee,  and 
now  the  time  hath  come.  Yea,  thou  wilt  be  great, 
and  live  at  court  amongst  noble  folk,  and  Kings 
haply.  Presently  thou  wilt  not  be  with  me  any 
more,  and  wilt  forget  me  by-and-by." 

"Nay,  Francis,  never  will  I  forget  thee!"  an- 
swered Myles,  pressing  his  friend's  hand.  "  I 
will  always  love  thee  better  than  any  one  in  the 
world,  saving  only  my  father  and  my  mother." 

Gascoyne  shook  his  head  and  looked  away, 
swallowing  at  the  dry  lump  in  his  throat.  Sud- 
denly he  turned  to  Myles.  "Wilt  thou  grant  me 
a  boon?" 

"Yea,"  answered  Myles.     "What  is  it?" 

"That  thou  wilt  choose  me  for  thy  squire." 

"Nay,"  said  Myles;  "how  canst  thou  think  to 
serve  me  as  squire?  Thou  wilt  be  a  knight  thy- 
self some  day,  Francis,  and  why  dost  thou  wish 
now  to  be  my  squire  ?" 

"Because,"  said  Gascoyne,  with  a  short  laugh, 
"I  would  rather  be  in  thy  company  as  a  squire 
than  in  mine  own  as  a  knight,  even  if  I  might  be 
bannere*  " 

2IO 


Myles  flung  his  arm  around  his  friend's  neck, 
and  kissed  him  upon  the  cheek.  "Thou  shalt 
have  thy  will,"  said  he ;  "  but  whether  knight  or 
squire,  thou  art  ever  mine  own  true  friend." 

Then  they  went  slowly  back  together,  hand  in 
hand,  to  the  castle  world  again. 

At  two  o'clock  Myles  went  to  Lord  George's 
apartments,  and  there  his  friend  and  patron 
dressed  him  out  in  a  costume  better  fitted  for 
the  ceremony  of  presentation  —  a  fur -trimmed 
jacket  of  green  brocaded  velvet  embroidered 
with  golden  thread,  a  black  velvet  hood -cap  roll- 
ed like  a  turban  and  with  a  jewel  in  the  front, 
a  pair  of  crimson  hose,  and  a  pair  of  black  vel- 
vet shoes  trimmed  and  stitched  with  gold-thread. 
Myles  had  never  worn  such  splendid  clothes  in 
his  life  before,  and  he  could  not  but  feel  that 
they  became  him  well. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  as  he  looked  down  at  himself, 
"sure  it  is  not  lawful  for  me  to  wear  such  clothes 
as  these." 

In  those  days  there  was  a  law,  known  as  a 
sumptuary  law,  which  regulated  by  statute  the 
clothes  that  each  class  of  people  were  privileged 
to  wear.  It  was,  as  Myles  said,  against  the  law 
for  him  to  wear  such  garments  as  those  in  which 
he  was  clad  —  either  velvet,  crimson  stuff,  fur  or 
silver  or  gold  embroidery  —  nevertheless  such  a 

211 


solemn  ceremony  as  presentation  to  the  King 
excused  the  temporary  overstepping  of  the  law, 
and  so  Lord  George  told  him.  As  he  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  lad's  shoulder  and  held  him  off 
at  arm's-length,  he  added,  "And  I  pledge  thee 
my  word,  Myles,  that  thou  art  as  lusty  and  hand- 
some a  lad  as  ever  mine  eyes  beheld." 

"  Thou  art  very  kind  to  me,  sir,"  said  Myles,  in 
answer. 

Lord  George  laughed;  and  then  giving  him  a 
shake,  let  go  his  shoulder. 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  when  little  Edmond 
de  Montefort,  Lord  Mackworth's  favorite  page, 
came  with  word  that  the  King  was  then  walking 
in  the  Earl's  pleasance. 

"  Come,  Myles,"  said  Lord  George,  and  then 
Myles  arose  from  the  seat  where  he  had  been 
sitting,  his  heart  palpitating  and  throbbing  tu- 
multuously. 

At  the  wicket-gate  of  the  pleasance  two  gentle- 
men-at-arms stood  guard  in  half-armor;  they  sa- 
luted Lord  George,  and  permitted  him  to  pass 
with  his  protege.  As  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
latch  of  the  wicket  he  paused  for  a  moment  and 
turned. 

"  Myles,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "  thou  art  a 
thoughtful  and  cautious  lad ;  for  thy  father's  sake 
be  thoughtful  and  cautious  now.     Do  not  speak 


212 


'Lord  George  led  him  to  where  the  King  stood" 


his  name  or  betray  that  thou  art  his  son."  Then 
he  opened  the  wicket-gate  and  entered. 

Any  lad  of  Myles's  age,  even  one  far  more 
used  to  the  world  than  he,  would  perhaps  have 
felt  all  the  oppression  that  he  experienced  under 
the  weight  of  such  a  presentation.  He  hardly 
knew  what  he  was  doing  as  Lord  George  led  him 
to  where  the  King  stood,  a  little  apart  from  the 
attendants,  with  the  Earl  and  the  Comte  de  Ver- 
moise.  Even  in  his  confusion  he  knew  enough  to 
kneel,  and  somehow  his  honest,  modest  diffidence 
became  the  young  fellow  very  well.  He  was  not 
awkward,  for  one  so  healthful  in  mind  and  body 
as  he  could  not  bear  himself  very  ill,  and  he  felt 
the  assurance  that  in  Lord  George  he  had  a  kind 
friend  at  his  side,  and  one  well  used  to  court  cere- 
monies to  lend  him  countenance.  Then  there  is 
something  always  pleasing  in  frank,  modest  man- 
liness such  as  was  stamped  on  Myles's  handsome, 
sturdy  face.  No  doubt  the  King's  heart  warmed 
towards  the  fledgling  warrior  kneeling  in  the 
path-way  before  him.  He  smiled  very  kindly  as 
he  gave  the  lad  his  hand  to  kiss,  and  that  cere- 
mony done,  held  fast  to  the  hard,  brown,  sinewy 
fist  of  the  young  man  with  his  soft  white  hand, 
and  raised  him  to  his  feet. 

"  By  the  mass !"  said  he,  looking  Myles  over 
with  smiling  eyes,  "  thou  art  a  right  champion  in 

213 


good  sooth.  Such  as  thou  art  haply  was  Sir  Gat 
lahad  when  he  came  to  Arthur's  court.  And  sq 
they  tell  me,  thou  hast  stomach  to  brook  the 
Sieur  de  la  Montaigne,  that  tough  old  boar  of 
Dauphiny.  Hast  thou  in  good  sooth  the  courage 
to  face  him  ?  Knowest  thou  what  a  great  thing 
it  is  that  thou  hast  set  upon  thyself — to  do  bat- 
tle, even  in  sport,  with  him  ?" 

"  Yea,  your  Majesty,"  answered  Myles,  "  well  I 
wot  it  is  a  task  haply  beyond  me.  But  gladly 
would  I  take  upon  me  even  a  greater  venture, 
and  one  more  dangerous,  to  do  your  Majesty's 
pleasure !" 

The  King  looked  pleased.  "  Now  that  was 
right  well  said,  young  man,"  said  he,  "  and  I  like 
it  better  that  it  came  from  such  young  and  hon- 
est lips.     Dost  thou  speak  French?" 

"  Yea,  your  Majesty,"  answered  Myles.  "  In 
some  small  measure  do  I  so." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  the  King;  "for  so  I 
may  make  thee  acquainted  with  Sieur  de  la  Mon- 
taigne.s> 

He  turned  as  he  ended  speaking,  and  beck- 
oned to  a  heavy,  thick-set,  black-browed  chevalier 
who  stood  with  the  other  gentlemen  attendants 
at  a  little  distance.  He  came  instantly  forward 
in  answer  to  the  summons,  and  the  King  intro- 
duced the  two  to  one  another.    As  each  took  the 

214 


other  formally  by  the  hand,  he  measured  his  op- 
ponent hastily,  body  and  limb,  and  perhaps  each 
thought  that  he  had  never  seen  a  stronger,  stout- 
er, better-knit  man  than  the  one  upon  whom  he 
looked.  But  nevertheless  the  contrast  betwixt 
the  two  was  very  great — Myles,  young,  boyish, 
fresh-faced;  the  other,  bronzed,  weather-beaten, 
and  seamed  with  a  great  white  scar  that  ran 
across  his  forehead  and  cheek;  the  one  a  nov- 
ice, the  other  a  warrior  seasoned  in  twoscore 
battles. 

A  few  polite  phrases  passed  between  the  two, 
the  King  listening  smiling,  but  with  an  absent 
and  far-away  look  gradually  stealing  upon  his 
face.  As  they  ended  speaking,  a  little  pause  of 
silence  followed,  and  then  the  King  suddenly 
aroused  himself. 

"  So,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad  that  ye  two  are  ac- 
quainted. And  now  we  will  leave  our  youthful 
champion  in  thy  charge,  Beaumont  —  and  in 
thine,  Mon  Sieur,  as  well — and  so  soon  as  the 
proper  ceremonies  are  ended,  we  will  dub  him 
knight  with  our  own  hands."  And  now,  Mack- 
worth,  and  thou  my  Lord  Count,  let  us  walk  a 
little;  I  have  bethought  me  further  concerning 
these  threescore  extra  men  for  Dauphiny. 

Then   Myles  withdrew,  under  the   charge   of 

Lord  George  and  the  Sieur  de  la   Montaigne, 

215 


and  while  the  King  and  the  two  nobles  walked 
slowly  up  and  down  the  gravel  path  between  the 
tall  rose-bushes,  Myles  stood  talking  with  the 
gentlemen  attendants,  finding  himself,  with  a  cer- 
tain triumphant  exultation,  the  peer  of  any  and 
the  hero  of  the  hour. 

That  night  was  the  last  that  Myles  and  Gas- 
coyne  spent  lodging  in  the  dormitory  in  their 
squirehood  service.  The  next  day  they  were  as- 
signed apartments  in  Lord  George's  part  of  the 
house,  and  thither  they  transported  themselves 
and  their  belongings,  amid  the  awestruck  wonder 
and  admiration  of  their  fellow-squires. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

In  Myles  Falworth's  day  one  of  the  greatest 
ceremonies  of  courtly  life  was  that  of  the  be- 
stowal of  knighthood  by  the  King,  with  the  hon- 
ors of  the  Bath.  By  far  the  greater  number 
of  knights  were  at  that  time  created  by  other 
knights,  or  by  nobles,  or  by  officers  of  the  crown. 
To  be  knighted  by  the  King  in  person  distin- 
guished the  recipient  for  life.  It  was  this  signal 
honor  that  the  Earl,  for  his  own  purposes,  wished 
Myles  to  enjoy,  and  for  this  end  he  had  laid  not 
a  few  plans. 

The  accolade  was  the  term  used  for  the  crea- 
tion of  a  knight  upon  the  field  of  battle.  It  was 
a  reward  of  valor  or  of  meritorious  service,  and 
was  generally  bestowed  in  a  more  or  less  off-hand 
way ;  but  the  ceremony  of  the  Bath  was  an  oc- 
casion of  the  greatest  courtly  moment,  and  it  was 
thus  that  Myles  Falworth  was  to  be  knighted  in 
addition  to  the  honor  of  a  royal  belting. 

A  quaint  old  book  treating  of  knighthood  and 

217 


chivalry  gives  a  full  and  detailed  account  of  all 
the  circumstances  of  the  ceremony  of  a  creation 
of  a  Knight  of  the  Bath.  It  tells  us  that  the 
candidate  was  first  placed  under  the  care  of  two 
squires  of  honor,  "grave  and  well  seen  in  court- 
ship and  nurture,  and  also  in  feats  of  chivalry," 
which  same  were  likewise  to  be  governors  in  all 
things  relating  to  the  coming  honors. 

First  of  all,  the  barber  shaved  him,  and  cut 
his  hair  in  a  certain  peculiar  fashion  ordained 
for  the  occasion,  the  squires  of  honor  supervising 
the  operation.  This  being  concluded,  the  can- 
didate was  solemnly  conducted  to  the  chamber 
where  the  bath  of  tepid  water  was  prepared, 
"  hung  within  and  without  with  linen,  and  like- 
wise covered  with  rich  cloths  and  embroidered 
linen."  While  in  the  bath  two  "  ancient,  grave, 
and  reverend  knights "  attended  the  bachelor, 
giving  him  "meet  instructions  in  the  order  and 
feats  of  chivalry."  The  candidate  was  then  ex- 
amined as  to  his  knowledge  and  acquirements, 
and  then,  all  questions  being  answered  to  the  sat- 
isfaction  of  his  examiners,  the  elder  of  the  two 
dipped  a  handful  of  water  out  from  the  bath,  and 
poured  it  upon  his  head,  at  the  same  time  signing 
his  left  shoulder  with  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

As  soon  as  this  ceremony  was  concluded,  the 
two  squires  of  honor  helped  their  charge  from  the 


218 


bath,  and  conducted  him  to  a  plain  bed  with- 
out hangings,  where  they  let  him  rest  until  his 
body  was  warm  and  dry.  Then  they  clad  him 
in  a  white  linen  shirt,  and  over  it  a  plain  robe  of 
russet,  "  girdled  about  the  loins  with  a  rope,  and 
having  a  hood  like  unto  a  hermit." 

As  soon  as  the  candidate  had  arisen,  the  two 
"ancient  knights"  returned,  and  all  being  in 
readiness  he  was  escorted  to  the  chapel,  the  two 
walking,  one  upon  either  side  of  him,  his  squires 
of  honor  marching  before,  and  the  whole  party 
preceded  by  "sundry  minstrels  making  a  loud 
noise  of  music." 

When  they  came  to  the  chapel,  the  two  knights 
who  escorted  him  took  leave  of  the  candidate, 
each  saluting  him  with  a  kiss  upon  the  cheek. 
No  one  remained  with  him  but  his  squires  of 
honor,  the  priest,  and  the  chandler. 

In  the  mean  time  the  novitiate's  armor,  sword, 
lance,  and  helmet  had  been  laid  in  readiness  be- 
fore the  altar.  These  he  watched  and  guarded 
while  the  others  slept,  keeping  vigil  until  sunrise, 
during  which  time  "  he  shall,"  says  the  ancient 
authority,  "  pass  the  night  in  orisons,  prayers,  and 
meditation."  At  daylight  he  confessed  to  the 
priest,  heard  matins,  and  communicated  in  mass, 
and  then  presented  a  lighted  candle  at  the  altar, 
with  a  piece  of  money  stuck  in  it  as  close  to  the 

2iq 


flame  as  could  be  done,  the  candle  being  offered 
to  the  honor  of  God,  and  the  money  to  the  honor 
of  that  person  who  was  to  make  him  a  knight. 

So  concluded  the  sacred  ceremony,  which  being 
ended  his  squires  conducted  the  candidate  to  his 
chamber,  and  there  made  him  comfortable,  and 
left  him  to  repose  for  a  while  before  the  second 
and  final  part  of  the  ordinance. 

Such  is  a  shortened  account  of  the  preparatory 
stages  of  the  ceremonies  through  which  Myles 
Falworth  passed. 

Matters  had  come  upon  him  so  suddenly  one 
after  the  other,  and  had  come  with  such  bewilder- 
ing rapidity  that  all  that  week  was  to  him  like 
some  strange,  wonderful,  mysterious  vision.  He 
went  through  it  all  like  one  in  a  dream.  Lord 
George  Beaumont  was  one  of  his  squires  of 
honor ;  the  other,  by  way  of  a  fitting  complement 
to  the  courage  of  the  chivalrous  lad,  was  the  Sieur 
de  la  Montaigne,  his  opponent  soon  to  be.  They 
were  well  versed  in  everything  relating  to  knight- 
craft,  and  Myles  followed  all  their  directions  with 
passive  obedience.  Then  Sir  James  Lee  and  the 
Comte  de  Vermoise  administered  the  ceremony 
of  the  Bath,  the  old  knight  examining  him  in  the 
laws  of  chivalry. 

It  occurs  perhaps  once  or  twice  in  one's  life- 
time that  one  passes  through  great  happenings— 


These  he  watched  and  auarded  while  the  others  slept" 


sometimes  of  joy,  sometimes  of  dreadful  bitter* 
ness — in  just  such  a  dazed  state  as  Myles  passed 
through  this.  It  is  only  afterwards  that  all  comes 
back  to  one  so  sharply  and  keenly  that  the  heart 
thrills  almost  in  agony  in  living  it  over  again. 
But  perhaps  of  all  the  memory  of  that  time,  when 
it  afterwards  came  back  piece  by  piece,  none  was 
so  clear  to  Myles's  back-turned  vision  as  the  long 
night  spent  in  the  chapel,  watching  his  armor, 
thinking  such  wonderful  thoughts,  and  dreaming 
sucn  wonderful  wide-eyed  dreams.  At  such  times 
Myies  saw  again  the  dark  mystery  of  the  castle 
chapel;  he  saw  again  the  half-moon  gleaming 
white  and  silvery  through  the  tall,  narrow  win- 
dow, and  throwing  a  broad  form  of  still  whiteness 
across  stone  floor,  empty  seats,  and  still,  motion- 
less figures  of  stone  effigies.  At  such  times  he 
stood  again  in  front  of  the  twinkling  tapers  that 
lit  the  altar  where  his  armor  lay  piled  in  a  heap, 
heard  again  the  deep  breathing  of  his  companions 
of  the  watch  sleeping  in  some  empty  stall,  wrapped 
each  in  his  cloak,  and  saw  the  old  chandler  bestir 
himself,  and  rise  and  come  forward  to  snuff  the 
candles.  At  such  times  he  saw  again  the  day 
growing  clearer  and  clearer  through  the  tall, glazed 
windows,  saw  it  change  to  a  rosy  pink,  and  then 
to  a  broad,  ruddy  glow  that  threw  a  halo  of  light 
around    Father  Thomas's  bald   head   bowed  in 


sleep,  and  lit  up  the  banners  and  trophies  hang- 
ing  motionless  against  the  stony  face  of  the  west 
wall ;  heard  again  the  stirring  of  life  without  and 
the  sound  of  his  companions  arousing  themselves ; 
saw  them  come  forward,  and  heard  them  wish 
him  joy  that  his  long  watch  was  ended. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  Myles  was  awakened 
from  a  fitful  sleep  by  Gascoyne  bringing  in  his 
dinner,  but,  as  might  be  supposed,  he  had  but 
little  hunger,  and  ate  sparingly.  He  had  hardly 
ended  his  frugal  meal  before  his  two  squires  of 
honor  came  in,  followed  by  a  servant  carrying  the 
garments  for  the  coming  ceremony.  He  saluted 
them  gravely,  and  then  arising,  washed  his  face 
and  hands  in  a  basin  which  Gascoyne  held ;  then 
kneeled  in  prayer,  the  others  standing  silent  at 
a  little  distance.  As  he  arose,  Lord  George  came 
forward. 

"  The  King  and  the  company  come  presently 
to  the  Great  Hall,  Myles,"  said  he ;  "  it  is  needful 
for  thee  to  make  all  the  haste  that  thou  art  able." 

Perhaps  never  had  Devlen  Castle  seen  a  more 
brilliant  and  goodly  company  gathered  in  the 
great  hall  than  that  which  came  to  witness  King 
Henry  create  Myles  Falworth  a  knight  bachelor. 

At  the  upper  end  of  the  hall  was  a  raised  dais, 
upon  which  stood  a  throne  covered  with  crimson 


satin  and  embroidered  with'  lions  and  flower-de- 
luces  ;  it  was  the  King's  seat.  He  and  his  per- 
sonal attendants  had  not  yet  come,  but  the  rest 
of  the  company  were  gathered.  The  day  being 
warm  and  sultry,  the  balcony  was  all  aflutter  with 
the  feather  fans  of  the  ladies  of  the  family  and 
their  attendants,  who  from  this  high  place  looked 
down  upon  the  hall  below.  Up  the  centre  of  the 
hall  was  laid  a  carpet  of  arras,  and  the  passage 
was  protected  by  wooden  railings.  Upon  the 
one  side  were  tiers  of  seats  for  the  castle  gentle- 
folks and  the  guests.  Upon  the  other  stood  the 
burghers  from  the  town,  clad  in  sober  dun  and 
russet,  and  yeomanry  in  green  and  brown.  The 
whole  of  the  great  vaulted  hall  was  full  of  the 
dull  hum  of  many  people  waiting,  and  a  cease- 
less restlessness  stirred  the  crowded  throng.  But 
at  last  a  whisper  went  around  that  the  King  was 
coming.  A  momentary  hush  fell,  and  through  it 
was  heard  the  noisy  clatter  of  horses'  feet  com- 
ing nearer  and  nearer,  and  then  stopping  before 
the  door.  The  sudden  blare  of  trumpets  broke 
through  the  hush ;  another  pause,  and  then  in 
through  the  great  door-way  of  the  hall  came  the 
royal  procession. 

First  of  all  marched,  in  the  order  of  their  rank, 
and  to  the  number  of  a  score  or  more,  certain 

gentlemen,  esquires  and   knights,  chosen  mostly 

223 


from  the  King's  attendants.  Behind  these  came 
two  pursuivants-at-arms  in  tabards,  and  following 
them  a  party  of  a  dozen  more  bannerets  and 
barons.  Behind  these  again,  a  little  space  inter- 
vening, came  two  heralds,  also  in  tabards,  a  group 
of  the  greater  nobles  attendant  upon  the  King 
following  in  the  order  of  their  rank.  Next  came 
the  King- at- arms  and,  at  a  little  distance  and 
walking  with  sober  slowness,  the  King  himself, 
with  the  Earl  and  the  Count  directly  attendant 
upon  him — the  one  marching  upon  the  right  hand 
and  the  other  upon  the  left.  A  breathless  silence 
filled  the  whole  space  as  the  royal  procession  ad- 
vanced slowly  up  the  hall.  Through  the  stillness 
could  be  heard  the  muffled  sound  of  the  footsteps 
on  the  carpet,  the  dry  rustling  of  silk  and  satin 
garments,  and  the  clear  clink  and  jingle  of  chains 
and  jewelled  ornaments,  but  not  the  sound  of  a 
single  voice. 

After  the  moment  or  two  of  bustle  and  con- 
fusion of  the  King  taking  his  place  had  passed, 
another  little  space  of  expectant  silence  fell.  At 
last  there  suddenly  came  the  noise  of  acclama- 
tion of  those  who  stood  without  the  door — cheer- 
ing and  the  clapping  of  hands — sounds  heralding 
the  immediate  advent  of  Myles  and  his  attend- 
ants.    The  next  moment  the  little  party  entered 

the  hall. 

224 


First  of  all,  Gascoyne,  bearing  Myles's  sword 
in  both  hands,  the  hilt  resting  against  his  breast, 
the  point  elevated  at  an  angle  of  forty -five  de- 
grees. It  was  sheathed  in  a  crimson  scabbard, 
and  the  belt  of  Spanish  leather  studded  with  sil- 
ver bosses  was  wound  crosswise  around  it.  From 
the  hilt  of  the  sword  dangled  the  gilt  spurs  of  his 
coming  knighthood.  At  a  little  distance  behind 
his  squire  followed  Myles,  the  centre  of  all  obser- 
vation. He  was  clad  in  a  novitiate  dress,  arranged 
under  Lord  George's  personal  supervision.  It 
had  been  made  somewhat  differently  from  the 
fashion  usual  at  such  times,  and  was  intended  to 
indicate  in  a  manner  the  candidate's  extreme 
youthfulness  and  virginity  in  arms.  The  outer 
garment  was  a  tabard  robe  of  white  wool,  em- 
broidered at  the  hem  with  fine  lines  of  silver,  and 
gathered  loosely  at  the  waist  with  a  belt  of  laven- 
der leather  stitched  with  thread  of  silver.  Beneath 
he  was  clad  in  armor  (a  present  from  the  Earl), 
new  and  polished  till  it  shone  with  dazzling 
brightness,  the  breastplate  covered  with  a  juppon 
of  white  satin,  embroidered  with  silver.  Behind 
Myles,  and  upon  either  hand,  came  his  squires  of 
honor,  sponsors,  and  friends — a  little  company  of 
some  half-dozen  in  all.  As  they  advanced  slowly 
up  the  great,  dim,  high-vaulted  room,  the  whole 

multitude  broke  forth  into  a  humming  buzz  of 

p  225 


applause.  Then  a  sudden  clapping  of  hands 
began  near  the  door-way,  ran  down  through  the 
length  of  the  room,  and  was  taken  up  by  all  with 
noisy  clatter. 

"  Saw  I  never  youth  so  comely,"  whispered 
one  of  the  Lady  Anne's  attendant  gentlewomen. 
"  Sure  he  looketh  as  Sir  Galahad  looked  when 
he  came  first  to  King  Arthur's  court." 

Myles  knew  that  he  was  very  pale ;  he  felt 
rather  than  saw  the  restless  crowd  of  faces  upon 
either  side,  for  his  eyes  were  fixed  directly  before 
him,  upon  the  dais  whereon  sat  the  King,  with 
the  Earl  of  Mackworth  standing  at  his  right  hand, 
the  Comte  de  Vermoise  upon  the  left,  and  the 
others  ranged  around  and  behind  the  throne.  It 
was  with  the  same  tense  feeling  of  dreamy  un- 
reality that  Myles  walked  slowly  up  the  length  of 
the  hall,  measuring  his  steps  by  those  of  Gas- 
coyne.  Suddenly  he  felt  Lord  George  Beaumont 
touch  him  lightly  upon  the  arm,  and  almost  in- 
stinctively he  stopped  short — he  was  standing 
just  before  the  covered  steps  of  the  throne. 

He  saw  Gascoyne  mount  to  the  third  step,  stop 

short,  kneel,  and  offer  the  sword  and  the  spurs  he 

carried  to  the  King,  who  took  the  weapon  and 

laid  it  across  his  knees.     Then  the  squire  bowed 

low,  and  walking  backward  withdrew  to  one  side, 

leaving  Myles  standing  alone  facing  the  throne. 

226 


The  King  unlocked  the  spur  chains  from  the 
sword-hilt,  and  then,  holding  the  gilt  spurs  in  his 
hand  for  a  moment,  he  looked  Myles  straight  in 
the  eyes  and  smiled.  Then  he  turned,  and  gave 
one  of  the  spurs  to  the  Earl  of  Mackworth. 

The  Earl  took  it  with  a  low  bow,  turned,  and 
came  slowly  down  the  steps  to  where  Myles  stood. 
Kneeling  upon  one  knee,  and  placing  Myles's 
foot  upon  the  other,  Lord  Mackworth  set  the 
spur  in  its  place  and  latched  the  chain  over  the 
instep.  He  drew  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon 
Myles's  bended  knee,  set  the  foot  back  upon  the 
ground,  rose  with  slow  dignity,  and  bowing  to  the 
King,  drew  a  little  to  one  side. 

As  soon  as  the  Earl  had  fulfilled  his  office  the 
King  gave  the  second  spur  to  the  Comte  de  Ver« 
moise,  who  set  it  to  Myles's  other  foot  with  the 
same  ceremony  that  the  Earl  had  observed,  with- 
drawing as  he  had  done  to  one  side. 

An  instant  pause  of  motionless  silence  followed, 
and  then  the  King  slowly  arose,  and  began  delib- 
erately to  unwind  the  belt  from  around  the  scab- 
bard of  the  sword  he  held.  As  soon  as  he  stood, 
the  Earl  and  the  Count  advanced,  and  taking 
Myles  by  either  hand,  led  him  forward  and  up 
the  steps  of  the  dais  to  the  platform  above.  As 
they  drew  a  little  to  one  side,  the  King  stooped 

and  buckled  the  sword-belt  around  Myles's  waist 

227 


then,  rising  again,  lifted  his  hand  and  struck  him 
upon  the  shoulder,  crying,  in  a  loud  voice, 

"  Be  thou  a  good  knight !" 

Instantly  a  loud  sound  of  applause  and  the  clap- 
ping of  hands  filled  the  whole  hall,  in  the  midst 
of  which  the  King  laid  both  hands  upon  Myles's 
shoulders  and  kissed  him  upon  the  right  cheek. 
So  the  ceremony  ended ;  Myles  was  no  longer 
Myles  Falworth,  but  Sir  Myles  Falworth,  Knight 
by  Order  of  the  Bath  and  by  grace  of  the  King  J 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

It  was  the  custom  to  conclude  the  ceremonies 
of  the  bestowal  of  knighthood  by  a  grand  feast 
given  in  honor  of  the  newly-created  knight.  But 
in  Myles's  instance  the  feast  was  dispensed  with. 
The  Earl  of  Mackworth  had  planned  that  Myles 
might  be  created  a  Knight  of  the  Bath  with  all 
possible  pomp  and  ceremony;  that  his  personal- 
ity might  be  most  favorably  impressed  upon  the 
King;  that  he  might  be  so  honorably  knighted 
as  to  make  him  the  peer  of  any  who  wore  spurs 
in  all  England;  and,  finally,  that  he  might  cele- 
brate his  new  honors  by  jousting  with  some 
knight  of  high  fame  and  approved  valor.  All 
these  desiderata  chance  had  fulfilled  in  the  visit 
of  the  King  to  Devlen. 

As  the  Earl  had  said  to  Myles,  he  would 
rather  have  waited  a  little  while  longer  until  the 
lad  was  riper  in  years  and  experience,  but  the  op- 
portunity was  not  to  be  lost.     Young  as  he  was, 

Myles  must  take  his  chances  against  the  years 

229 


and  grim  experience  of  the  Sieur  de  la  Mon- 
taigne. But  it  was  also  a  part  of  the  Earl's  pur- 
pose that  the  King  and  Myles  should  not  be 
brought  too  intimately  together  just  at  that  time. 
Though  every  particular  of  circumstance  should 
be  fulfilled  in  the  ceremony,  it  would  have  been 
ruination  to  the  Earl's  plans  to  have  the  knowl- 
edge come  prematurely  to  the  King  that  Myles 
was  the  son  of  the  attainted  Lord  Falworth. 
The  Earl  knew  that  Myles  was  a  shrewd,  cool- 
headed  lad;  but  the  King  had  already  hinted  that 
the  name  was  familiar  to  his  ears,  and  a  single 
hasty  answer  or  unguarded  speech  upon  the 
young  knight's  part  might  awaken  him  to  a  full 
knowledge.  Such  a  mishap  was,  of  all  things,  to 
be  avoided  just  then,  for,  thanks  to  the  mach- 
inations of  that  enemy  of  his  father,  of  whom 
Myles  had  heard  so  much,  and  was  soon  to  hear 
more,  the  King  had  always  retained  and  still 
held  a  bitter  and  rancorous  enmity  against  the 
unfortunate  nobleman. 

It  was  no  very  difficult  matter  for  the  Earl  to 
divert  the  King's  attention  from  the  matter  of 
the  feast.  His  Majesty  was  very  intent  just 
then  upon  supplying  a  quota  of  troops  to  the 
Dauphin,  and  the  chief  object  of  his  visit  to 
Devlen  was  to  open  negotiations  with  the  Earl 

looking  to  that  end.     He  was  interested — much 

230 


interested  in  Myles  and  in  the  coming  joust- 
ing in  which  the  young  warrior  was  to  prove 
himself,  but  he  was  interested  in  it  by  way  of 
a  relaxation  from  the  other  and  more  engross- 
ing matter.  So,  though  he  made  some  passing 
and  half  preoccupied  inquiry  about  the  feast, 
he  was  easily  satisfied  with  the  Earl's  reasons 
for  not  holding  it:  which  were  that  he  had  ar- 
ranged a  consultation  for  that  morning  in  re- 
gard to  the  troops  for  the  Dauphin,  to  which 
meeting  he  had  summoned  a  number  of  his  own 
more  important  dependent  nobles;  that  the  King 
himself  needed  repose  and  the  hour  or  so  of  rest 
that  his  barber-surgeon  had  ordered  him  to  take 
after  his  mid-day  meal;  that  Father  Thomas  had 
laid  upon  Myles  a  petty  penance — that  for  the 
first  three  days  of  his  knighthood  he  should  eat 
his  meals  without  meat  and  in  his  own  apartment 
— and  various  other  reasons  equally  good  and 
sufficient,  So  the  King  was  satisfied,  and  the 
feast  was  dispensed  with. 

The  next  morning  had  been  set  for  the  joust- 
ing, and  all  that  day  the  workmen  were  busy 
erecting  the  lists  in  the  great  quadrangle  upon 
which,  as  was  said  before,  looked  the  main  build- 
ings of  the  castle.  The  windows  of  Myles's 
apartment  opened  directly  upon  the  bustling 
scene  —  the  carpenters   hammering  and  sawing, 

331 


the  upholsterers  snipping,  cutting,  and  tacking. 
Myles  and  Gascoyne  stood  gazing  out  from  the 
open  casement,  with  their  arms  lying  across  one 
another's  shoulders  in  the  old  boyhood  fashion, 
and  Myles  felt  his  heart  shrink  with  a  sudden 
tight  pang  as  the  realization  came  sharply  and 
vividly  upon  him  that  all  these  preparations  were 
being  made  for  him,  and  that  the  next  day  he 
should,  with  almost  the  certainty  of  death,  meet 
either  glory  or  failure  under  the  eyes  not  only 
of  all  the  greater  and  lesser  castle  folk,  but  of  the 
King  himself  and  noble  strangers  critically  used 
to  deeds  of  chivalry  and  prowess.  Perhaps  he 
had  never  fully  realized  the  magnitude  of  the 
reality  before.  In  that  tight  pang  at  his  heart 
he  drew  a  deep  breath,  almost  a  sigh.  Gascoyne 
turned  his  head  abruptly,  and  looked  at  his 
friend,  but  he  did  not  ask  the  cause  of  the  sigh. 
No  doubt  the  same  thoughts  that  were  in  Myles's 
mind  were  in  his  also. 

It  was  towards  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon 
that  a  message  came  from  the  Earl,  bidding 
Myles  attend  him  in  his  private  closet.  After 
Myles  had  bowed  and  kissed  his  lordship's  hand, 
the  Earl  motioned  him  to  take  a  seat,  telling  him 
that  he  had  some  final  words  to  say  that  might 
occupy  a  considerable  time.      He  talked  to  the 

2-J2 


young  man  for  about  half  an  hour  in  his  quiet, 
measured  voice,  only  now  and  then  showing  a 
little  agitation  by  rising  and  walking  up  and 
down  the  room  for  a  turn  or  two.  Very  many 
things  were  disclosed  in  that  talk  that  had 
caused  Myles  long  hours  of  brooding  thought, 
for  the  Earl  spoke  freely,  and  without  conceal- 
ment to  him  concerning  his  father  and  the  fort- 
unes of  the  house  of  Falworth. 

Myles  had  surmised  many  things,  but  it  was 
not  until  then  that  he  knew  for  a  certainty  who 
was  his  father's  malignant  and  powerful  enemy — 
that  it  was  the  great  Earl  of  Alban,  the  rival  and 
bitter  enemy  of  the  Earl  of  Mackworth.  It  was 
not  until  then  that  he  knew  that  the  present  Earl 
of  Alban  was  the  Lord  Brookhurst,  who  had 
killed  Sir  John  Dale  in  the  anteroom  at  Fal- 
worth Castle  that  morning  so  long  ago  in  his 
early  childhood.  It  was  not  until  then  that  he 
knew  all  the  circumstances  of  his  father's  blind- 
ness; that  he  had  been  overthrown  in  the  melee 
at  the  great  tournament  at  York,  and  that  that 
same  Lord  Brookhurst  had  ridden  his  iron-shod 
war-horse  twice  over  his  enemy's  prostrate  body 
before  his  squire  could  draw  him  from  the  press, 
and  had  then  and  there  given  him  the  wound 
from  which  he  afterwards  went  blind.  The  Earl 
swore  to  Myles  that  Lord  Brookhurst  had  done 

233 


what  he  did  wilfully,  and  had  afterwards  boasted 
of  it.  Then,  with  some  hesitation,  he  told  Myles 
the  reason  of  Lord  Brookhurst's  enmity,  and  that 
it  had  arisen  on  account  of  Lady  Falworth, 
whom  he  had  one  time  sought  in  marriage,  and 
that  he  had  sworn  vengeance  against  the  man 
who  had  won  her. 

Piece  by  piece  the  Earl  of  Mackworth  re- 
counted every  circumstance  and  detail  of  the  re- 
venge that  the  blind  man's  enemy  had  afterwards 
wreaked  upon  him.  He  told  Myles  how,  when 
his  father  was  attainted  of  high-treason,  and  his 
estates  forfeited  to  the  crown,  the  King  had 
granted  the  barony  of  Easterbridge  to  the  then 
newly-created  Earl  of  Alban  in  spite  of  all  the 
efforts  of  Lord  Falworth's  friends  to  the  con- 
trary; that  when  he  himself  had  come  out  from 
an  audience  with  the  King,  with  others  of  his 
father's  friends,  the  Earl  of  Alban  had  boasted  in 
the  anteroom,  in  a  loud  voice,  evidently  intended 
for  them  all  to  hear,  that  now  that  he  had  Fal- 
worth's fat  lands,  he  would  never  rest  till  he  had 
hunted  the  blind  man  out  from  his  hiding,  and 
brought  his  head  to  the  block. 

"  Ever  since  then,"  said  the  Earl  of  Mackworth, 
"  he  hath  been  striving  by  every  means  to  dis- 
cover thy  father's  place  of  concealment.  Some 
time,  haply,  he  may  find  it,  and  then — " 

234 


Myles  had  felt  for  a  long  time  that  he  was  be- 
ing moulded  and  shaped,  and  that  the  Earl  of 
Mackworth's  was  the  hand  that  was  making  him 
what  he  was  growing  to  be;  but  he  had  never 
realized  how  great  were  the  things  expected  of 
him  should  he  pass  the  first  great  test,  and  show 
himself  what  his  friends  hoped  to  see  him.  Now 
he  knew  that  all  were  looking  upon  him  to  act, 
sometime,  as  his  father's  champion,  and  when 
that  time  should  come,  to  challenge  the  Earl  of 
Alban  to  the  ordeal  of  single  combat,  to  purge 
his  father's  name  of  treason,  to  restore  him  to 
his  rank,  and  to  set  the  house  of  Falworth  where 
it  stood  before  misfortune  fell  upon  it. 

But  it  was  not  alone  concerning  his  and  his 
father's  affairs  that  the  Earl  of  Mackworth  talked 
to  Myles.  He  told  him  that  the  Earl  of  Alban 
was  the  Earl  of  Mackworth's  enemy  also ;  that  in 
his  younger  days  he  had  helped  Lord  Falworth, 
who  was  his  kinsman,  to  win  his  wife,  and  that 
then  Lord  Brookhurst  had  sworn  to  compass  his 
ruin  as  he  had  sworn  to  compass  the  ruin  of  his 
friend.  He  told  Myles  how,  now  that  Lord  Brook- 
hurst was  grown  to  be  Earl  of  Alban,  and  great 
and  powerful,  he  was  forever  plotting  against  him, 
and  showed  Myles  how,  if  Lord  Falworth  were 
discovered  and  arrested  for  treason,  he  also  would 
be  likely  to  suffer  for  aiding  and  abetting  him. 

235 


Then  it  dawned  upon  Myles  that  the  Earl  looked 
to  him  to  champion  the  house  of  Beaumont  as 
well  as  that  of  Falworth. 

"  Mayhap,"  said  the  Earl,  "  thou  didst  think 
that  it  was  all  for  the  pleasant  sport  of  the  mat- 
ter that  I  have  taken  upon  me  this  toil  and  en- 
deavor to  have  thee  knighted  with  honor  that 
thou  mightst  fight  the  Dauphiny  knight.  Nay, 
nay,  Myles  Falworth,  I  have  not  labored  so  hard 
for  such  a  small  matter  as  that.  I  have  had  the 
King,  unknown  to  himself,  so  knight  thee  that 
thou  mayst  be  the  peer  of  Alban  himself,  and 
now  I  would  have  thee  to  hold  thine  own  with 
the  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne,  to  try  whether  thou 
be'st  Alban's  match,  and  to  approve  thyself 
worthy  of  the  honor  of  thy  knighthood.  I  am 
sorry,  ne'theless,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "that  this  could  not  have  been  put  off 
for  a  while  longer,  for  my  plans  for  bringing 
thee  to  battle  with  that  vile  Alban  are  not  yet 
ripe.  But  such  a  chance  of  the  King  coming 
hither  haps  not  often.  And  then  I  am  glad  of 
this  much — that  a  good  occasion  offers  to  get 
thee  presently  away  from  England.  I  would 
have  thee  out  of  the  King's  sight  so  soon  as 
may  be  after  this  jousting.  He  taketh  a  liking 
to  thee,  and   I   fear  me  lest  he  should   inquire 

more  nearly  concerning  thee  and  so  all  be  dis- 

236 


covered  and  spoiled.  My  brother  George  goeth 
upon  the  first  of  next  month  to  France  to  take 
service  with  the  Dauphin,  having  under  his  com- 
mand a  company  of  tenscore  men — knights  and 
archers;  thou  shalt  go  with  him,  and  there  stay 
till  I  send  for  thee  to  return." 

With  this,  the  protracted  interview  conclud- 
ed, the  Earl  charging  Myles  to  say  nothing  fur- 
ther about  the  French  expedition  for  the  pres- 
ent— even  to  his  friend — for  it  was  as  yet  a  mat- 
ter of  secrecy,  known  only  to  the  King  and  a  few 
nobles  closely  concerned  in  the  venture. 

Then  Myles  arose  to  take  his  leave.  He  asked 
and  obtained  permission  for  Gascoyne  to  accom- 
pany him  to  France.  Then  he  paused  for  a 
moment  or  two,  for  it  was  strongly  upon  him  to 
speak  of  a  matter  that  had  been  lying  in  his 
mind  all  day — a  matter  that  he  had  dreamed  of 
much  with  open  eyes  during  the  long  vigil  of  the 
night  before. 

The  Earl  looked  up  inquiringly.  "  What  is  it 
thou  wouldst  ask?"  said  he. 

Myles's  heart  was  beating  quickly  within  him 
at  the  thought  of  his  own  boldness,  and  as  he 
spoke  his  cheeks  burned  like  fire.  "  Sir,"  said  he, 
mustering  his  courage  at  last,  "  haply  thou  hast 
forgot  it,  but  I  have  not;  ne'theless,  a  long  time 
since  when   I  spoke   of  serving  the — the   Lady 

-  237 


Alice  as  her  true  knight,  thou  didst  wisely  laugh 
at  my  words,  and  bade  me  wait  first  till  I  had 
earned  my  spurs.  But  now,  sir,  I  have  gotten 
my  spurs,  and — and  do  now  crave  thy  gracious 
leave  that  I  may  serve  that  lady  as  her  true 
knight." 

A  space  of  dead  silence  fell,  in  which  Myles's 
heart  beat  tumultuously  within  him. 

"  I  know  not  what  thou  meanest,"  said  the  Earl 
at  last,  in  a  somewhat  constrained  voice.  "  How 
wouldst  thou  serve  her?  What  wouldst  thou 
have?" 

"  I  would  have  only  a  little  matter  just  now," 
answered  Myles.  "  I  would  but  crave  of  her  a 
favor  for  to  wear  in  the  morrow's  battle,  so  that 
she  may  know  that  I  hold  her  for  my  own  true 
lady,  and  that  I  may  have  the  courage  to  fight 
more  boldly,  having  that  favor  to  defend." 

The  Earl  sat  looking  at  him  for  a  while  in 
brooding  silence,  stroking  his  beard  the  while. 
Suddenly  his  brow  cleared.  "  So  be  it,"  said  he. 
"  I  grant  thee  my  leave  to  ask  the  Lady  Alice 
for  a  favor,  and  if  she  is  pleased  to  give  it  to 
thee,  I  shall  not  say  thee  nay.  But  I  set  this 
upon  thee  as  a  provision:  that  thou  shalt  not  see 
her  without  the  Lady  Anne  be  present.  Thus  it 
was,  as  I  remember,  thou  saw  her  first,  and  with 

it  thou  must  now  be  satisfied.     Go  thou  to  the 

238 


Long  Gallery,  and  thither  they  will  come  anon 
if  naught  hinder  them." 

Myles  waited  in  the  Long  Gallery  perhaps 
some  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes.  No  one  was 
there  but  himself.  It  was  a  part  of  the  castle 
connecting  the  Earl's  and  the  Countess's  apart- 
ments, and  was  used  but  little.  During  that 
time  he  stood  looking  absently  out  of  the  open 
casement  into  the  stony  court-yard  beyond,  try- 
ing to  put  into  words  that  which  he  had  to  say; 
wondering,  with  anxiety,  how  soon  the  young 
ladies  would  come ;  wondering  whether  they 
would  come  at  all.  At  last  the  door  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  gallery  opened,  and  turning 
sharply  at  the  sound,  he  saw  the  two  young 
ladies  enter,  Lady  Alice  leaning  upon  Lady 
Anne's  arm.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had 
seen  them  since  the  ceremony  of  the  morning, 
and  as  he  advanced  to  meet  them,  the  Lady 
Anne  came  frankly  forward,  and  gave  him  her 
hand,  which  Myles  raised  to  his  lips. 

"  I  give  thee  joy  of  thy  knighthood,  Sir 
Myles,"  said  she,  "  and  do  believe,  in  good  sooth, 
that  if  any  one  deserveth  such  an  honor,  thou 
art  he." 

At  first  little  Lady  Alice  hung  back  behind 
her  cousin,  saying  nothing  until  the  Lady  Anne, 
turning  suddenly,  said :    "Come,  coz,  hast  thou 

23.9 


naught  to  say  to  our  new-made  knight?  Canst 
thou  not  also  wish  him  joy  of  his  knighthood  ?" 

Lady  Alice  hesitated  a  minute,  then  gave 
Myles  a  timid  hand,  which  he,  with  a  strange 
mixture  of  joy  and  confusion,  took  as  timidly  as 
it  was  offered.  He  raised  the  hand,  and  set  it 
lightly  and  for  an  instant  to  his  lips,  as  he  had 
done  with  the  Lady  Anne's  hand,  but  with  very 
different  emotions. 

"I  give  you  joy  of  your  knighthood,  sir,"  said 
Lady  Alice,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  Myles  could 
hardly  hear  it. 

Both  flushed  red,  and  as  he  raised  his  head 
again,  Myles  saw  that  the  Lady  Anne  had  with- 
drawn to  one  side.  Then  he  knew  that  it  was  to 
give  him  the  opportunity  to  proffer  his  request. 

A  little  space  of  silence  followed,  the  while  he 
strove  to  key  his  courage  to  the  saying  of  that 
which  lay  at  his  mind.  "Lady,"  said  he  at  last, 
and  then  again — "Lady,  I — have  a  favor  for  to 
ask  thee." 

"  What  is  it  thou  wouldst  have,  Sir  Myles  ?" 
she  murmured,  in  reply. 

"  Lady,"  said  he,  "  ever  sin  I  first  saw  thee  I 
have  thought  that  if  I  might  choose  of  all  the 
world,  thou  only  wouldst  I  choose  for — for  my 
true  lady,  to  serve  as  a  right  knight  should." 
Here  he  stopped,  frightened  at  his  own  boldness. 


Lady  Alice  stood  quite  still,  with  her  face  turned 
away.  "  Thou — thou  art  not  angered  at  what  I 
say  ?"  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  longed  and  longed  for  the  time,"  said 
he,  "to  ask  a  boon  of  thee,  and  now  hath  that 
time  come.  Lady,  to-morrow  I  go  to  meet  a 
right  good  knight,  and  one  skilled  in  arms  and 
in  jousting,  as  thou  dost  know.  Yea,  he  is  fa- 
mous in  arms,  and  I  be  nobody.  Ne'theless,  I 
fight  for  the  honor  of  England  and  Mackworth 
— and  —  and  for  thy  sake.  I —  Thou  art  not 
angered  at  what  I  say  ?" 

Again  the  Lady  Alice  shook  her  head. 

"  I  would  that  thou  —  I  would  that  thou  would 
give  me  some  favor  for  to  wear  —  thy  veil  or  thy 
necklace." 

He  waited  anxiously  for  a  little  while,  but  Lady 
Alice  did  not  answer  immediately. 

"I  fear  me,"  said  Myles,  presently,  "  that  I  have 
in  sooth  offended  thee  in  asking  this  thing.  I 
know  that  it  is  a  parlous  bold  matter  for  one  so 
raw  in  chivalry  and  in  courtliness  as  I  am,  and 
one  so  poor  in  rank,  to  ask  thee  for  thy  favor. 
An  I  ha'  offended,  I  prithee  let  it  be  as  though  I 
had  not  asked  it." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  young  man's  timidity  that 
brought  a  sudden  courage  to  Lady  Alice ;    per- 

Q  241 


haps  it  was  the  graciousness  of  her  gentle  breed- 
ing that  urged  her  to  relieve  Myles  s  somewhat 
awkward  humility;  perhaps  it  was  something 
more  than  either  that  lent  her  bravery  to  speak, 
even  knowing  that  the  Lady  Anne  heard  all. 
She  turned  quickly  to  him;  "Nay,  Sir  Myles," 
she  said,  "  I  am  foolish,  and  do  wrong  thee  by  my 
foolishness  and  silence,  for,  truly,  I  am  proud  to 
have  thee  wear  my  favor."  She  unclasped,  as 
she  spoke,  the  thin  gold  chain  from  about  her 
neck.  "I  give  thee  this  chain,"  said  she,  "and  it 
will  bring  me  joy  to  have  it  honored  by  thy  true 
knightliness,  and,  giving  it,  I  do  wish  thee  all  suc- 
cess." Then  she  bowed  her  head,  and,  turning, 
left  him  holding  the  necklace  in  his  hand. 

Her  cousin  left  the  window  to  meet  her,  bow- 
ing her  head  with  a  smile  to  Myles  as  she  took 
her  cousin's  arm  again  and  led  her  away.  He 
stood  looking  after  them  as  they  left  the  room, 
and  when  they  were  gone,  he  raised  the  necklace 
to  his  lips  with  a  heart  beating  tumultuously  with 
a  triumphant  joy  it  had  never  felt  before. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

.And  now,  at  last,  had  come  the  day  of  days 
for  Myles  Falworth ;  the  day  when  he  was  to 
put  to  the  test  all  that  he  had  acquired  in  the 
three  years  of  his  training ;  the  day  that  was  to 
disclose  what  promise  of  future  greatness  there 
was  in  his  strong  young  body.  And  it  was  a  noble 
day;  one  of  those  of  late  September,  when  the  air 
seems  sweeter  and  fresher  than  at  other  times; 
the  sun  bright  and  as  yellow  as  gold;  the  wind 
lusty  and  strong,  before  which  the  great  white 
clouds  go  sailing  majestically  across  the  bright 
blueness  of  the  sky  above,  while  their  dusky  shad- 
ows skim  across  the  brown  face  of  the  rusty  earth 
beneath. 

As  was  said  before,  the  lists  had  been  set  up 

in  the  great  quadrangle  of  the  castle,  than  which, 

level    and   smooth    as    a  floor,  no    more    fitting 

place  could  be  chosen.      The  course  was  of  the 

usual  size  —  sixty  paces    long  —  and    separated 

along  its  whole  length   by  a  barrier  about  five 

243 


feet  high.  Upon  the  west  side  of  the  course, 
and  about  twenty  paces  distant  from  it,  a  scaf- 
folding had  been  built  facing  towards  the  east 
so  as  to  avoid  the  glare  of  the  afternoon  sun. 
In  the  centre  was  a  raised  dais,  hung  round  with 
cloth  of  blue  embroidered  with  lions  rampant. 
Upon  the  dais  stood  a  cushioned  throne  for  the 
King,  and  upon  the  steps  below,  ranged  in  the 
order  of  their  dignity,  were  seats  for  the  Earl, 
his  guests,  the  family,  the  ladies,  knights,  and  gen- 
tlemen of  the  castle.  In  front,  the  scaffolding 
was  covered  with  the  gayest  tapestries  and  bright- 
est-colored hangings  that  the  castle  could  afford. 
And  above,  parti -colored  pennants  and  stream- 
ers, surmounted  by  the  royal  ensign  of  England, 
waved  and  fluttered  in  the  brisk  wind. 

At  either  end  of  the  lists  stood  the  pavilions 
of  the  knighto.  That  of  Myles  was  at  the  south- 
ern extremity  5  and  was  hung,  by  the  Earl's  de- 
sire, with  cloth  of  the  Beaumont  colors  (black  and 
yellow),  while  a  wooden  shield  bearing  three  gos- 
hawks spread  (the  crest  of  the  house)  was  nailed 
to  the  roof,  and  a  long  streamer  of  black  and  yel- 
low trailed  out  in  the  wind  from  the  staff  above. 
Myles,  partly  armed,  stood  at  the  door-way  of  the 
pavilion,  watching  the  folk  gathering  at  the  scaf- 
folding. The  ladies  of  the  house  were  already 
seated,  and  the  ushers  were  bustling  hither  and 

244 


thither,  assigning  the  others  their  places.  A 
considerable  crowd  of  common  folk  and  burghers 
from  the  town  had  already  gathered  at  the  bar- 
riers opposite,  and  as  he  looked  at  the  restless 
and  growing  multitude  he  felt  his  heart  beat 
quickly  and  his  flesh  grow  cold  with  a  nervous 
trepidation — just  such  as  the  lad  of  to-day  feels 
when  he  sees  the  auditorium  filling  with  friends 
and  strangers  who  are  to  listen  by-and-by  to  the 
reading  of  his  prize  poem. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  loud  blast  of  trumpets. 
A  great  gate  at  the  farther  extremity  of  the 
lists  was  thrown  open,  and  the  King  appeared, 
riding  upon  a  white  horse,  preceded  by  the  King- 
at-arms  and  the  heralds,  attended  by  the  Earl 
and  the  Comte  de  Vermoise,  and  followed  by  a 
crowd  of  attendants.  Just  then  Gascoyne,  who, 
with  Wilkes,  was  busied  lacing  some  of  the  armor 
plates  with  new  thongs,  called  Myles,  and  he 
turned  and  entered  the  pavilion, 

As  the  two  squires  were  adjusting  these  last 
pieces,  strapping  them  in  place  and  tying  the 
thongs,  Lord  George  and  Sir  James  Lee  entered 
the  pavilion.  Lord  George  took  the  young  man 
by  the  hand,  and  with  a  pleasant  smile  wished 
him  success  in  the  coming  encounter. 

Sir  James  seemed  anxious  and  disturbed.     He 

said  nothing,  and  after  Gascoyne  had  placed  the 

245 


open  bascinet  that  supports  the  tilting  helm  in 
its  place,  he  came  forward  and  examined  the 
armor  piece  by  piece,  carefully  and  critically,  test- 
ing the  various  straps  and  leather  points  and 
thongs  to  make  sure  of  their  strength. 

"  Sir,"  said  Gascoyne,  who  stood  by  watching 
him  anxiously,  "  I  do  trust  that  I  have  done  all 
meetly  and  well." 

"  I  see  nothing  amiss,  sirrah,"  said  the  old 
knight,  half  grudgingly.  "  So  far  as  I  may  know, 
he  is  ready  to  mount." 

Just  then  a  messenger  entered,  saying  that  the 
King  was  seated,  and  Lord  George  bade  Myles 
make  haste  to  meet  the  challenger. 

"  Francis,"  said  Myles,  "  prithee  give  me  my 
pouch  yonder." 

Gascoyne  handed  him  the  velvet  bag,  and  he 
opened  it,  and  took  out  the  necklace  that  the 
Lady  Alice  had  given  him  the  day  before. 

"  Tie  me  this  around  my  arm,"  said  he.  He 
looked  down,  keeping  his  eyes  studiously  fixed 
on  Gascoyne's  fingers,  as  they  twined  the  thin 
golden  chain  around  the  iron  plates  of  his  right 
arm,  knowing  that  Lord  George's  eyes  were 
upon  him,  and  blushing  fiery  red  at  the  knowl- 
edge. 

Sir  James  was  at  that  moment  examining  the 

great   tilting   helm,  and   Lord   George  watched 

246 


My  Lord,'  said  he.  'Ilic  favor  was  given  to  me  by  the  Lady  Alice' 


him,  smiling  amusedly.  "  And  hast  thou  then 
already  chosen  thee  a  lady  ?"  he  said,  presently. 

"  Aye,  my  Lord,"  answered  Myles,  simply. 

"  Marry,  I  trust  we  be  so  honored  that  she  is 
one  of  our  castle  folk,"  said  the  Earl's  brother. 

For  a  moment  Myles  did  not  reply;  then  he 
looked  up.  "  My  Lord,"  said  he,  "  the  favor  was 
given  to  me  by  the  Lady  Alice." 

Lord  George  looked  grave  for  the  moment; 
then  he  laughed.  "  Marry,  thou  art  a  bold  archer 
to  shoot  for  such  high  game." 

Myles  did  not  answer,  and  at  that  moment  two 
grooms  led  his  horse  up  to  the  door  of  the  pavil- 
ion. Gascoyne  and  Wilkes  helped  him  to  his 
saddle,  and  then,  Gascoyne  holding  his  horse  by 
the  bridle-rein,  he  rode  slowly  across  the  lists  to 
the  little  open  space  in  front  of  the  scaffolding 
and  the  King's  seat  just  as  the  Sieur  de  la  Mon- 
taigne approached  from  the  opposite  direction. 

As  soon  as  the  two  knights  champion  had 
reached  each  his  appointed  station  in  front  of 
the  scaffolding,  the  Marshal  bade  the  speaker 
read  the  challenge,  which,  unrolling  the  parch- 
ment, he  began  to  do  in  a  loud,  clear  voice,  so 
that  all  might  hear.  It  was  a  quaint  document, 
wrapped  up  in  the  tangled  heraldic  verbiage  of 
the  time.  The  pith  of  the  matter  was  that  the 
Sieur  Brian  Philip  Francis  de  la  Montaigne  pro- 

247 


claimed  before  all  men  the  greater  chivalry  and 
skill  at  arms  of  the  knights  of  France  and  of 
Dauphiny,  and  likewise  the  greater  fairness  of 
the  ladies  of  France  and  Dauphiny,  and  would 
there  defend  those  sayings  with  his  body  without 
fear  or  attaint  as  to  the  truth  of  the  same.  As 
soon  as  the  speaker  had  ended,  the  Marshal  bade 
him  call  the  defendant  of  the  other  side. 

Then  Myles  spoke  his  part,  with  a  voice  trem- 
bling somewhat  with  the  excitement  of  the  mo- 
ment, but  loudly  and  clearly  enough :  "  I,  Myles 
Edward  Falworth,  knight,  so  created  by  the  hand 
and  by  the  grace  of  his  Majesty  King  Henry  IV. 
of  England,  do  take  upon  me  the  gage  of  this 
battle,  and  will  defend  with  my  body  the  chivalry 
of  the  knights  of  England  and  the  fairness  of  the 
ladies  thereof!" 

Then,  after  the  speaker  ended  his  proclamation 
and  had  retired  to  his  place,  the  ceremony  of 
claiming  and  redeeming  the  helmet,  to  which  all 
young  knights  were  subjected  upon  first  entering 
the  lists,  was  performed. 

One  of  the  heralds  cried  in  a  loud  voice,  "  I, 
Gilles  Hamerton,  herald  to  the  most  noble  Clar- 
encieux  King-at-arms,  do  claim  the  helm  of  Sir 
Myles  Edward  Falworth  by  this  reason,  that  he 
hath  never  yet  entered  joust  or  tourney." 

To  which  Myles  answered,  "  I  do  acknowledge 

248 


ttle  right  of  that  claim,  and  herewith  proffer  thee 
in  ransom  for  the  same  this  purse  of  one  hundred 
marks  in  gold." 

As  he  spoke,  Gascoyne  stepped  forward  and 
delivered  the  purse,  with  the  money,  to  the  Her- 
ald. It  was  a  more  than  usually  considerable 
ransom,  and  had  been  made  up  by  the  Earl  and 
Lord  George  that  morning. 

"  Right  nobly  hast  thou  redeemed  thy  helm," 
said  the  Herald,  "  and  hereafter  be  thou  free  to 
enter  any  jousting  whatsoever,  and  in  whatever 
place." 

So,  all  being  ended,  both  knights  bowed  to  the 
King,  and  then,  escorted  each  by  his  squire,  re- 
turned to  his  pavilion,  saluted  by  the  spectators 
with  a  loud  clapping  of  hands. 

Sir  James  Lee  met  Myles  in  front  of  his  tent. 
Coming  up  to  the  side  of  the  horse,  the  old  man 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  saddle,  looking  up  into 
the  young  man's  face. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  fail  in  this  venture  and  bring 
shame  upon  me  ?"  said  he. 

"  Nay,  my  dear  master,"  said  Myles ;  "  I  will 
do  my  best" 

"  I  doubt  it  not,"  said  the  old  man ;  "  and  I  be- 
lieve me  thou  wilt  come  off  right  well.  From 
what  he  did  say  this  morning,  methinks  the 
Sieur  de  la  Montaigne  meaneth  only  to   break 

R  249 


three  lances  with  thee,  and  will  content  himself 
therewith,  without  seeking  to  unhorse  thee.  Ne - 
theless,  be  thou  bold  and  watchful,  and  if  thou 
find  that  he  endeavor  to  cast  thee,  do  thy  best 
to  unhorse  him.  Remember  also  those  things 
which  I  have  told  thee  ten  thousand  times  before: 
hold  thy  toes  well  down  and  grip  the  stirrup 
hard,  more  especially  at  the  moment  of  meeting; 
bend  thy  body  forward,  and  keep  thine  elbow 
close  to  thy  side.  Bear  thy  lance  point  one  foot 
above  thine  adversary's  helm  until  within  two 
lengths  of  meeting,  and  strike  thou  in  the  very 
middle  of  his  shield.  So,  Myles,  thou  mayst  hold 
thine  own,  and  come  off  with  glory." 

As  he  ended  speaking  he  drew  back,  and  Gas« 
coyne,  mounting  upon  a  stool,  covered  his  friend's 
head  and  bascinet  with  the  great  jousting  helm, 
making  fast  the  leathern  points  that  held  it  to 
the  iron  collar. 

As  he  was  tying  the  last  thong  a  messenger 
came  from  the  Herald,  saying  that  the  challenger 
was  ready,  and  then  Myles  knew  the  time  had 
come,  and  reaching  down  and  giving  Sir  James 
a  grip  of  the  hand,  he  drew  on  his  gauntlet,  took 
'  the  joUsting  lance  that  Wilkes  handed  him,  and 
turned  his  horse's  head  towards  his  end  of  the 
lists. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

As  Myles  took  his  place  at  the  south  end  of 
the  lists,  he  found  the  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne  al- 
ready at  his  station.  Through  the  peep-hole  in 
the  face  of  the  huge  helmet,  a  transverse  slit 
known  as  the  occularium,  he  could  see,  like  a 
strange  narrow  picture,  the  farther  end  of  the 
lists,  the  spectators  upon  either  side  moving  and 
shifting  with  ceaseless  restlessness,  and  in  the 
centre  of  all,  his  opponent,  sitting  with  spear 
point  directed  upward,  erect,  motionless  as  a 
statue  of  iron,  the  sunlight  gleaming  and  flashing 
upon  his  polished  plates  of  steel,  and  the  trap- 
pings of  his  horse  swaying  and  fluttering  in  the 
rushing  of  the  fresh  breeze. 

Upon  that  motionless  figure  his  sight  gradually 
centred  with  every  faculty  of  mind  and  soul.  He 
knew  the  next  moment  the  signal  would  be  given 
that  was  to  bring  him  either  glory  or  shame  from 
that  iron  statue.  He  ground  his  teeth  together 
with  stern  resolve  to  do  his  best  in  the  coming 

251 


encounter,  and  murmured  a  brief  prayer  in  the 
hollow  darkness  of  his  huge  helm.  Then  with  a 
shake  he  settled  himself  more  firmly  in  his 
saddle,  slowly  raised  his  spear  point  until  the 
shaft  reached  the  exact  angle,  and  there  suffer- 
ed it  to  rest  motionless.  There  was  a  moment 
of  dead,  tense,  breathless  pause,  then  he  rather 
felt  than  saw  the  Marshal  raise  his  baton.  He 
gathered  himself  together,  and  the  next  moment 
a  bugle  sounded  loud  and  clear.  In  one  blinding 
rush  he  drove  his  spurs  into  the  sides  of  his 
horse,  and  in  instant  answer  felt  the  noble  steed 
spring  forward  with  a  bound. 

Through  all  the  clashing  of  his  armor  rever- 
berating in  the  hollow  depths  of  his  helmet,  he 
saw  the  mail-clad  figure  from  the  other  end  of 
the  lists  rushing  towards  him,  looming  larger  and 
larger  as  they  came  together.  He  gripped  his 
saddle  with  his  knees,  clutched  the  stirrup  with 
the  soles  of  his  feet,  and  bent  his  body  still  more 
forward.  In  the  instant  of  meeting,  with  almost 
the  blindness  of  instinct,  he  dropped  the  point 
of  his  spear  against  the  single  red  flower-de-luce 
in  the  middle  of  the  on-coming  shield.  There 
was  a  thunderous  crash  that  seemed  to  rack  every 
joint,  he  heard  the  crackle  of  splintered  wood,  he 
felt  the  momentary  trembling  recoil  of  the  horse 

beneath  him,  and  in  the  next  instant  had  passed 

252    - 


by.  As  he  checked  the  onward  rush  of  his  horse 
at  the  far  end  of  the  course,  he  heard  faintly  in 
the  dim  hollow  recess  of  the  helm  the  loud  shout 
and  the  clapping  of  hands  of  those  who  looked 
on,  and  found  himself  gripping  with  nervous  in- 
tensity the  butt  of  a  broken  spear,  his  mouth 
clammy  with  excitement,  and  his  heart  thumping 
in  his  throat. 

Then  he  realized  that  he  had  met  his  opponent, 
and  had  borne  the  meeting  well.  As  he  turned  his 
horse's  head  towards  his  own  end  of  the  lists,  he 
saw  the  other  trotting  slowly  back  towards  his 
station,  also  holding  a  broken  spear  shaft  in  his 
hand. 

As  he  passed  the  iron  figure  a  voice  issued 
from  the  helmet,  "  Well  done,  Sir  Myles,  nobly 
done !"  and  his  heart  bounded  in  answer  to  the 
words  of  praise.  When  he  had  reached  his  own 
end  of  the  lists,  he  flung  away  his  broken  spear, 
and  Gascoyne  came  forward  with  another. 

"  Oh,  Myles !"  he  said,  with  a  sob  in  his  voice, 
"  it  was  nobly  done.  Never  did  I  see  a  better 
ridden  course  in  all  my  life.  I  did  not  believe 
that  thou  couldst  do  half  so  well.  Oh,  Myles, 
prithee  knock  him  out  of  his  saddle  an  thou 
lovest  me !" 

Myles,  in  his  high-keyed  nervousness,  could  not 
forbear  a  short  hysterical  laugh   at  his  friend's 

253 


warmth  of  enthusiasm.  He  took  the  fresh  lance 
in  his  hand,  and  then,  seeing  that  his  opponent 
was  walking  his  horse  slowly  up  and  down  at  his 
end  of  the  lists,  did  the  same  during  the  little 
time  of  rest  before  the  next  encounter. 

When,  in  answer  to  the  command  of  the  Mar- 
shal, he  took  his  place  a  second  time,  he  found 
himself  calmer  and  more  collected  than  before, 
but  every  faculty  no  less  intensely  fixed  than  it 
had  been  at  first.  Once  more  the  Marshal  raised 
his  baton,  once  more  the  horn  sounded,  and  once 
more  the  two  rushed  together  with  the  same 
thunderous  crash,  the  same  splinter  of  broken 
spears,  the  same  momentary  trembling  recoil  of 
the  horse,  and  the  same  onward  rush  past  one 
another.  Once  more  the  spectators  applauded 
and  shouted  as  the  two  knights  turned  their 
horses  and  rode  back  towards  their  station. 

This  time  as  they  met  midway  the  Sieur  de  la 
Montaigne  reined  in  his  horse.  "  Sir  Myles," 
said  his  muffled  voice, "  I  swear  to  thee,  by  my 
faith,  I  had  not  thought  to  meet  in  thee  such  an 
opponent  as  thou  dost  prove  thyself  to  be.  I 
had  thought  to  find  in  thee  a  raw  boy,  but  find 
instead  a  Paladin.  Hitherto  I  have  given  thee 
grace  as  I  would  give  grace  to  any  mere  lad,  and 
thought  of  nothing  but  to  give  thee  opportunity 
to  break  thy  lance.     Now  I  shall  do  my  endeavor 

254 


to  unhorse  thee  as  I  would  an  acknowledged 
peer  in  arms.  Nevertheless,  on  account  of  thy 
youth,  I  give  thee  this  warning,  so  that  thou 
mayst  hold  thyself  in  readiness." 

"  I  give  thee  gramercy  for  thy  courtesy,  my 
Lord,"  answered  Myles,  speaking  in  French;  "and 
I  will  strive  to  encounter  thee  as  best  I  may,  and 
pardon  me  if  I  seem  forward  in  so  saying,  but 
were  I  in  thy  place,  my  Lord,  I  would  change 
me  yon  breast-piece  and  over-girth  of  my  saddle; 
they  are  sprung  in  the  stitches." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne,  laugh- 
ing, "  breast-piece  and  over-girth  have  carried  me 
through  more  tilts  than  one,  and  shall  through 
this.  An  thou  give  me  a  blow  so  true  as  to 
burst  breast-piece  and  over-girth,  I  will  own  my- 
self fairly  conquered  by  thee."  So  saying,  he  sa- 
luted Myles  with  the  butt  of  the  spear  he  still 
held,  and  passed  by  to  his  end  of  the  lists. 

Myles,  with  Gascoyne  running  beside  him,  rode 
across  to  his  pavilion,  and  called  to  Edmund 
Wilkes  to  bring  him  a  cup  of  spiced  wine.  After 
Gascoyne  had  taken  off  his  helmet,  and  as  he  sat 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  face  Sir  James 
came  up  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  he,  gripping  the  hand  he 
held, "  never  could  I  hope  to  be  so  overjoyed  in 
mine  old  age  as  I  am  this  day.     Thou  dost  bring 

«55 


honor  to  me,  for  I  tell  thee  truly  thou  dost  ride 
like  a  knight  seasoned  in  twenty  tourneys." 

"  It  doth  give  me  tenfold  courage  to  hear 
thee  so  say,  dear  master,"  answered  Myles. 
"And  truly,"  he  added,  "  I  shall  need  all  my 
courage  this  bout,  for  the  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne 
telleth  me  that  he  will  ride  to  unhorse  me  this 
time." 

"  Did  he  indeed  so  say  ?"  said  Sir  James.  "  Then 
belike  he  meaneth  to  strike  at  thy  helm.  Thy 
best  chance  is  to  strike  also  at  his.  Doth  thy 
hand  tremble  ?" 

"  Not  now,"  answered  Myles. 

"  Then  keep  thy  head  cool  and  thine  eye  true. 
Set  thy  trust  in  God,  and  haply  thou  wilt  come 
out  of  this  bout  honorably  in  spite  of  the  raw- 
ness of  thy  youth." 

Just  then  Edmund  Wilkes  presented  the  cup 
of  wine  to  Myles,  who  drank  it  off  at  a  draught, 
and  thereupon  Gascoyne  replaced  the  helm  and 
tied  the  thongs. 

The  charge  that  Sir  James  Lee  had  given  to 

Myles   to  strike  at  his  adversary's  helm  was  a 

piece  of  advice  he  probably  would  not  have  given 

to  so  young  a  knight,  excepting  as  a  last  resort. 

A  blow  perfectly  delivered  upon  the  helm  was  of 

all  others  the  most  difficult  for  the  recipient  to 

recover  from,  but  then  a  blow  upon  the  helm  was 

256 


not  one  time  in  fifty  perfectly  given.  The  huge 
cylindrical  tilting  helm  was  so  constructed  in 
front  as  to  slope  at  an  angle  in  all  directions  to 
one  point.  That  point  was  the  centre  of  a  cross 
formed  by  two  iron  bands  welded  to  the  steel- 
face  plates  of  the  helm  where  it  was  weakened 
by  the  opening  slit  of  the  occularium,  or  peep- 
hole. In  the  very  centre  of  this  cross  was  a  little 
flattened  surface  where  the  bands  were  riveted 
together,  and  it  was  upon  that  minute  point  that 
the  blow  must  be  given  to  be  perfect,  and  that 
stroke  Myles  determined  to  attempt. 

As  he  took  his  station  Edmund  Wilkes  came 
running  across  from  the  pavilion  with  a  lance 
that  Sir  James  had  chosen,  and  Myles,  returning 
the  one  that  Gascoyne  had  just  given  him,  took 
it  in  his  hand.  It  was  of  seasoned  oak,  some- 
what thicker  than  the  other,  a  tough  weapon,  not 
easily  to  be  broken  even  in  such  an  encounter  as 
he  was  like  to  have.  He  balanced  the  weapon, 
and  found  that  it  fitted  perfectly  to  his  grasp. 
As  he  raised  the  point  to  rest,  his  opponent  took 
his  station  at  the  farther  extremity  of  the  lists, 
and  again  there  was  a  little  space  of  breathless 
pause.  Myles  was  surprised  at  his  own  coolness; 
every  nervous  tremor  was  gone.  Before,  he  had 
been  conscious  of  the  critical  multitude  looking 
down  upon  him ;  now  it  was  a  conflict  of  man  to 
r  257 


man,  and  such  a  conflict  had  no  terrors  for  his 
young  heart  of  iron. 

The  spectators  had  somehow  come  to  the 
knowledge  that  this  was  to  be  a  more  serious  en- 
counter than  the  two  which  had  preceded  it,  and 
a  breathless  silence  fell  for  the  moment  or  two 
that  the  knights  stood  in  place. 

Once  more  he  breathed  a  short  prayer,  "  Holy 
Mary,  guard  me !" 

Then  again,  for  the  third  time,  the  Marsha" 
raised  his  baton,  and  the  horn  sounded,  and  foi 
the  third  time  Myles  drove  his  spurs  into  his 
horse's  flanks.  Again  he  saw  the  iron  figure  of 
his  opponent  rushing  nearer,  nearer,  nearer.  He 
centred,  with  a  straining  intensity,  every  faculty 
of  soul,  mind,  and  body  upon  one  point  —  the 
cross  of  the  occularium,  the  mark  he  was  to 
strike.  He  braced  himself  for  the  tremendous 
shock  which  he  knew  must  meet  him,  and  then 
in  a  flash  dropped  the  lance  point  straight  and 
true.  The  next  instant  there  was  a  deafening, 
stunning  crash — a  crash  like  the  stroke  of  a 
thunder-bolt.  There  was  a  dazzling  blaze  of 
blinding  light,  and  a  myriad  sparks  danced  and 
flickered  and  sparkled  before  his  eyes.  He  felt 
his  horse  stagger  under  him  with  the  recoil,  and 
hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  he  drove  his  spurs 
deep  into  its  sides  with  a  shout.     At  the  same 

2*8 


moment  there  resounded  in  his  ears  a  crashing 
rattle  and  clatter,  he  knew  not  of  what,  and  then, 
as  his  horse  recovered  and  sprang  forward,  and 
as  the  stunning  bewilderment  passed,  he  found 
that  his  helmet  had  been  struck  off.  He  heard 
a  great  shout  arise  from  all,  and  thought,  with  a 
sickening,  bitter  disappointment,  that  it  was  be- 
cause he  had  lost.  At  the  farther  end  of  the 
course  he  turned  his  horse,  and  then  his  heart 
gave  a  leap  and  a  bound  as  though  it  would 
burst,  the  blood  leaped  to  his  cheeks  tingling, 
and  his  bosom  thrilled  with  an  almost  agonizing 
pang  of  triumph,  of  wonder,  of  amazement. 

There,  in  a  tangle  of  his  horse's  harness  and 
of  embroidered  trappings,  the  Sieur  de  la  Mon- 
taigne lay  stretched  upon  the  ground,  with  his 
saddle  near  by,  and  his  riderless  horse  was  trot- 
ting aimlessly  about  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
lists. 

Myles  saw  the  two  squires  of  the  fallen  knight 

run  across  to  where  their  master  lay,  he  saw  the 

ladies  waving  their  kerchiefs  and  veils,  and  the 

castle  people  swinging  their  hats  and  shouting 

in  an  ecstasy  of  delight.     Then  he  rode  slowly 

back  to  where  the  squires  were  now  aiding  the 

fallen  knight  to  arise.     The  senior  squire  drew 

his  dagger,  cut  the  leather  points,  and  drew  off 

the  helm,  disclosing  the    knight's  face — a  face 

259 


white  as  death,  and  convulsed  with  rage,  mortifi- 
cation, and  bitter  humiliation. 

"  I  was  not  rightly  unhorsed!"  he  cried,  hoarsely 
and  with  livid  lips,  to  the  Marshal  and  his  attend- 
ants, who  had  ridden  up.  "  I  unhelmed  him 
fairly  enough,  but  my  over-girth  and  breast-strap 
burst,  and  my  saddle  slipped.  I  was  not  un- 
horsed, I  say,  and  I  lay  claim  that  I  unhelmed 
him." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Marshal  calmly,  and  speaking 
in  French,  "  surely  thou  knowest  that  the  loss 
of  helmet  does  not  decide  an  encounter.  I  need 
not  remind  thee,  my  Lord,  that  it  was  so  award- 
ed by  John  of  Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster,  when 
in  the  jousting  match  between  Reynand  de  Roye 
and  John  de  Holland,  the  Sieur  Reynand  left 
every  point  of  his  helm  loosened,  so  that  the 
helm  was  beaten  off  at  each  stroke.  If  he  then 
was  justified  in  doing  so  of  his  own  choice,  and 
wilfully  suffering  to  be  unhelmed,  how  then  can 
this  knight  be  accused  of  evil  who  suffered  it  by 
chance  ?" 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  the  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne, 

in  the  same  hoarse,  breathless  voice,  "  I  do  affirm, 

and  will    make   my  affirmation    good  with    my 

body,  that  I  fell  only  by  the  breaking  of  my  girth. 

Who  says  otherwise  lies !" 

"  It  is  the  truth  he  speaketh,"  said  Myles.     "  I 
260 


myself  saw  the  stitches  were  some  little  what 
burst,  and  warned  him  thereof  before  we  ran  this 
course." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Marshal  to  the  Sieur  de  la 
Montaigne,  "  how  can  you  now  complain  of  that 
thing  which  your  own  enemy  advised  you  of  and 
warned  you  against  ?  Was  it  not  right  knightly 
for  him  so  to  do  ?" 

The  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne  stood  quite  still 
for  a  little  while,  leaning  on  the  shoulder  of  his 
chief  squire,  looking  moodily  upon  the  ground ; 
then,  without  making  answer,  he  turned,  and 
walked  slowly  away  to  his  pavilion,  still  leaning 
on  his  squire's  shoulder,  whilst  the  other  attend- 
ant followed  behind,  bearing  his  shield  and  hel- 
met. 

Gascoyne  had  picked  up  Myles's  fallen  helmet 
as  the  Sieur  de  la  Montaigne  moved  away,  and 
Lord  George  and  Sir  James  Lee  came  walking 
across  the  lists  to  where  Myles  still  sat.  Then, 
the  one  taking  his  horse  by  the  bridle-rein, 
and  the  other  walking  beside  the  saddle,  they 
led  him  before  the  raised  dais  where  the  King 
sat. 

Even  the  Comte  de  Vermoise,  mortified  and 
amazed  as  he  must  have  been  at  the  overthrow 
of  his  best  knight,  joined  in  the  praise  and  con- 
gratulation  that   poured   upon    the    young   con- 

261 


queror.  Myles,  his  heart  swelling  with  a  passion 
of  triumphant  delight,  looked  up  and  met  the 
gaze  of  Lady  Alice  fixed  intently  upon  him.  A 
red  spot  of  excitement  still  burned  in  either 
cheek,  and  it  flamed  to  a  rosier  red  as  he  bowed 
his  head  to  her  before  turning  away. 

Gascoyne  had  just  removed  Myles 's  breastplate 
and  gorget,  when  Sir  James  Lee  burst  into  the 
pavilion.  All  his  grim  coldness  was  gone,  and 
he  flung  his  arms  around  the  young  man's  neck, 
hugging  him  heartily,  and  kissing  him  upon 
either  cheek. 

Ere  he  let  him  go, "  Mine  own  dear  boy,"  he 
said,  holding  him  off  at  arm's-length,  and  wink- 
ing his  one  keen  eye  rapidly,  as  though  to  wink 
away  a  dampness  of  which  he  was  ashamed — > 
"mine  own  dear  boy,  I  do  tell  thee  truly  this  is 
as  sweet  to  me  as  though  thou  wert  mine  own 
son ;  sweeter  to  me  than  when  I  first  break  mine 
own  lance  in  triumph,  and  felt  myself  to  be  a 
right  knight." 

"  Sir,"  answered  Myles,  "what  thou  sayest  doth 
rejoice  my  very  heart.  Ne'theless,  it  is  but  just 
to  say  that  both  his  breast-piece  and  over-girth 
were  burst  in  the  stitches  before  he  ran  his 
course,  for  so  I  saw  with  mine  own  eyes." 

"  Burst  in  the    stitches !"  snorted   Sir  James. 

"  Thinkest  thou  he  did  not  know  in  what  condi- 

262 


tion  was  his  horse's  gearing  ?  I  tell  thee  he  went 
down  because  thou  didst  strike  fair  and  true, 
and  he  did  not  so  strike  thee.  Had  he  been 
Guy  of  Warwick  he  had  gone  down  all  the  same 
under  such  a  stroke  and  in  such  case/ 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

fT  was  not  until  more  than  three  weeks  after 
the  King  had  left  Devlen  Castle  that  Lord 
George  and  his  company  of  knights  and  archers 
were  ready  for  the  expedition  to  France.  Two 
weeks  of  that  time  Myles  spent  at  Crosby-Dale 
with  his  father  and  mother.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  he  had  seen  them  since,  four  years  ago,  he 
had  quitted  the  low,  narrow,  white-walled  farm- 
house for  the  castle  of  the  great  Earl  of  Mack- 
worth.  He  had  never  appreciated  before  how 
low  and  narrow  and  poor  the  farm-house  was. 
Now,  with  his  eyes  trained  to  the  bigness  of  Dev- 
len Castle,  he  looked  around  him  with  wonder 
and  pity  at  his  father's  humble  surroundings. 
He  realized  as  he  never  else  could  have  realized 
how  great  was  the  fall  in  fortune  that  had  cast 
the  house  of  Falworth  down  from  its  rightful  sta- 
tion to  such  a  level  as  that  upon  which  it  now 
rested.  And  at  the  same  time  that  he  thus  rec- 
ognized how  poor  was  their  lot,  how  dependent 

264 


upon  the  charity  of  others,  he  also  recognized 
how  generous  was  the  friendship  of  Prior  Ed- 
ward, who  perilled  his  own  safety  so  greatly  in 
affording  the  family  of  the  attainted  Lord  an 
asylum  in  its  bitter  hour  of  need  and  peril. 

Myles  paid  many  visits  to  the  gentle  old  priest 
during  those  two  weeks'  visit,  and  had  many  long 
and  serious  talks  with  him.  One  warm  bright 
afternoon,  as  he  and  the  old  man  walked  together 
in  the  priory  garden,  after  a  game  or  two  of 
draughts,  the  young  knight  talked  more  freely 
and  openly  of  his  plans,  his  hopes,  his  ambitions, 
than  perhaps  he  had  ever  done.  He  told  the  old 
man  all  that  the  Earl  had  disclosed  to  him  con- 
cerning the  fallen  fortunes  of  his  father's  house, 
and  of  how  all  who  knew  those  circumstances 
looked  to  him  to  set  the  family  in  its  old  place 
once  more.  Prior  Edward  added  many  things 
to  those  which  Myles  already  knew — things  of 
which  the  Earl  either  did  not  know,  or  did  not 
choose  to  speak.  He  told  the  young  man,  among 
other  matters,  the  reason  of  the  bitter  and  lasting 
enmity  that  the  King  felt  for  the  blind  noble- 
man :  that  Lord  Falworth  had  been  one  of  King 
Richard's  council  in  times  past;  that  it  was  not 
a  little  owing  to  him  that  King  Henry,  when  Earl 
of  Derby,  had  been  banished  from  England,  and 

that,  though  he  was  then  living  in  the  retirement 
s  265- 


of  private  life,  he  bitterly  and  steadfastly  opposed 
King  Richard's  abdication.  He  told  Myles  that 
at  the  time  when  Sir  John  Dale  found  shelter 
at  Falworth  Castle,  vengeance  was  ready  to  fall 
upon  his  father  at  any  moment,  and  it  needed 
only  such  a  pretext  as  that  of  sheltering  so  prom- 
inent a  conspirator  as  Sir  John  to  complete  his 
ruin. 

Myles,  as  he  listened  intently,  could  not  but 
confess  in  his  own  mind  that  the  King  had 
many  rational,  perhaps  just,  grounds  for  griev- 
ance against  such  an  ardent  opponent  as  the 
blind  Lord  had  shown  himself  to  be.  "  But,  sir," 
said  he,  after  a  little  space  of  silence,  when  Prior 
Edward  had  ended,  "to  hold  enmity  and  to  breed 
treason  are  very  different  matters.  Haply  my 
father  was  Bolingbroke's  enemy,  but,  sure,  thou 
dost  not  believe  he  is  justly  and  rightfully  tainted 
with  treason?" 

"Nay,"  answered  the  priest,  "how  canst  thou 

ask  me  such  a  thing?     Did  I  believe  thy  father 

a  traitor,  thinkest  thou  I  would  thus  tell  his  son 

thereof  ?     Nay,  Myles,  I  do  know  thy  father  well, 

and  have  known  him  for  many  years,  and  this  of 

him,  that  few  men  are  so  honorable  in  heart  and 

soul  as  he.     But  I  have  told  thee  all  these  things 

to  show  that  the  King  is  not  without  some  reason 

to  be  thy  father's  unfriend.      Neither,  haply,  is 

266 


Prior  Edward  and  Myles  in  thr  Priory  Garden 


the  Earl  of  A)  ban  without  cause  of  enmity  against 
him.  So  thou,  upon  thy  part,  shouldst  not  feel 
bitter  rancor  against  the  King  for  what  hath 
happed  to  thy  house,  nor  even  against  William 
Brookhurst — I  mean  the  Earl  of  Alban — for,  I 
tell  thee,  the  worst  of  our  enemies  and  the  worst 
of  men  believe  themselves  always  to  have  right 
and  justice  upon  their  side,  even  when  they  most 
wish  evil  to  others." 

So  spoke  the  gentle  old  priest,  who  looked 
from  his  peaceful  haven  with  dreamy  eyes  upon 
the  sweat  and  tussle  of  the  world's  battle.  Had 
he  instead  been  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  it  might 
have  been  harder  for  him  to  believe  that  his 
enemies  ever  had  right  upon  their  side. 

"But  tell  me  this,"  said  Myles,  presently,  "dost 
thou,  then,  think  that  I  do  evil  in  seeking  to  do 
a  battle  of  life  or  death  with  this  wicked  Earl  of 
Alban,  who  hath  so  ruined  my  father  in  body  and 
fortune?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Prior  Edward,  thoughtfully,  "  I  say 

not  that  thou  doest  evil.     War  and  bloodshed 

seem  hard  and  cruel  matters  to  me ;    but  God 

hath  given  that  they  be  in  the  world,  and  may 

He  forbid  that  such  a  poor  worm  as  I  should  say 

that  they  be  all  wrong  and  evil.     Meseems  even 

an  evil  thing  is  sometimes  passing  good  when 

rightfully  used." 

267 


Myles  did  not  fully  understand  what  the  old 
man  meant,  but  this  much  he  gathered,  that  his 
spiritual  father  did  not  think  ill  of  his  fighting 
the  Earl  of  Alban  for  his  temporal  father's  sake. 

So  Myles  went  to  France  in  Lord  George's 
company,  a  soldier  of  fortune,  as  his  Captain  was. 
He  was  there  for  only  six  months,  but  those  six 
months  wrought  a  great  change  in  his  life.  In 
the  fierce  factional  battles  that  raged  around  the 
walls  of  Paris  ;  in  the  evil  life  which  he  saw  at 
the  Burgundian  court  in  Paris  itself  after  the 
truce — a  court  brilliant  and  wicked,  witty  and 
cruel — the  wonderful  liquor  of  youth  had  evapo- 
rated rapidly,  and  his  character  had  crystallized 
as  rapidly  into  the  hardness  of  manhood.  The 
warfare,  the  blood,  the  evil  pleasures  which  he 
had  seen  had  been  a  fiery,  crucible  test  to  his 
soul,  and  I  love  my  hero  that  he  should  have 
come  forth  from  it  so  well.     He  was  no  lonsrer 

o 

the  innocent  Sir  Galahad  who  had  walked  in 
pure  white  up  the  Long  Hall  to  be  knighted  by 
the  King,  but  his  soul  was  of  that  grim,  sterling, 
rugged  sort  that  looked  out  calmly  from  his  gray 
eyes  upon  the  wickedness  and  debauchery  around 
him,  and  loved  it  not. 

Then  one  day  a  courier  came,  bringing  a  pack- 
et.    It  was  a  letter  from  the  Earl,  bidding  Myles 

return   straightway  to    England   and    to   Mack- 

268 


worth  House  upon  the  Strand,  nigh  to  London, 
without  delay,  and  Myles  knew  that  his  time 
had  come. 

It  was  a  bright  day  in  April  when  he  and  Gas- 
coyne  rode  clattering  out  through  Temple  Bar, 
leaving  behind  them  quaint  old  London  town, 
its  blank  stone  wall,  its  crooked,  dirty  streets,  its 
high-gabled  wooden  houses,  over  which  rose  the 
sharp  spire  of  St.  Paul's,  towering  high  into  the 
golden  air.  Before  them  stretched  the  straight, 
broad  highway  of  the  Strand,  on  one  side  the 
great  houses  and  palaces  of  princely  priests  and 
powerful  nobles ;  on  the  other  the  Covent  Gar- 
den, (or  the  Convent  Garden,  as  it  was  then 
called),  and  the  rolling  country,  where  great  stone 
windmills  swung  their  slow- moving  arms  in  the 
damp,  soft  April  breeze,  and  away  in  the  distance 
the  Scottish  Palace,  the  White  Hall,  and  West- 
minster. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Myles  had  seen  fa- 
mous London  town.  In  that  dim  and  distant 
time  of  his  boyhood,  six  months  before,  he  would 
have  been  wild  with  delight  and  enthusiasm. 
Now  he  jogged  along  with  Gascoyne,  gazing 
about  him  with  calm  interest  at  open  shops  and 
booths  and  tall,  gabled  houses;  at  the  busy  throng 
of  merchants  and  craftsmen,  jostling  and  elbow- 
ing one  another;  at  townsfolk — men  and  dames — 

269 


picking  their  way  along  the  muddy  kennel  of  a 
sidewalk.  He  had  seen  so  much  of  the  world 
that  he  had  lost  somewhat  of  interest  in  new 
things.  So  he  did  not  care  to  tarry,  but  rode, 
with  a  mind  heavy  with  graver  matters,  through 
the  streets  and  out  through  the  Temple  Bar 
direct  for  Mackworth  House,  near  the  Savoy 
Palace. 

It  was  with  a  great  deal  of  interest  that  Myles 
and  his  patron  regarded  one  another  when  they 
met  for  the  first  time  after  that  half-year  which 
the  young  soldier  had  spent  in  France.  To 
Myles  it  seemed  somehow  very  strange  that  his 
Lordship's  familiar  face  and  figure  should  look 
so  exactly  the  same.  To  Lord  Mackworth,  per- 
haps, it  seemed  even  more  strange  that  six  short 
months  should  have  wrought  so  great  a  change 
in  the  young  man.  The  rugged  exposure  in 
camp  and  field  during  the  hard  winter  that  had 
passed  had  roughened  the  smooth  bloom  of  his 
boyish  complexion  and  bronzed  his  fair  skin  al- 
most as  much  as  a  midsummer's  sun  could  have 
done.  His  beard  and  mustache  had  grown 
again,  (now  heavier  and  more  mannish  from  hav- 
ing been  shaved),  and  the  white  seam  of  a  scar 
over  the  right  temple  gave,  if  not  a  stern,  at 

least  a  determined  look  to  the  strong,  square- 

270 


jawed  young  face.  So  the  two  stood  for  a  while 
regarding  one  another.  Myles  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence. 

"My  Lord,"  said  he,  "thou  didst  send  for  me 
to  come  back  to  England;   behold,  here  am  I." 

"When  didst  thou  land,  Sir  Myles?"  said  the 
Earl. 

"  I  and  my  squire  landed  at  Dover  upon  Tues- 
day last,"  answered  the  young  man. 

The  Earl  of  Mackworth  stroked  his  beard  soft- 
ly. "Thou  art  marvellous  changed,"  said  he. 
"I  would  not  have  thought  it  possible." 

Myles  smiled  somewhat  grimly.  "  I  have  seen 
such  things,  my  Lord,  in  France  and  in  Paris," 
said  he,  quietly,  "as,  mayhap,  may  make  a  lad  a 
man  before  his  time." 

"From  which  I  gather,"  said  the  Earl,  "that 
many  adventures  have  befallen  thee.  Methought 
thou  wouldst  find  troublesome  times  in  the  Dau- 
phin's camp,  else  I  would  not  have  sent  thee  to 
France." 

A  little  space  of  silence  followed,  during  which 
the  Earl  sat  musingly,  half  absently,  regarding 
the  tall,  erect,  powerful  young  figure  standing 
before  him,  awaiting  his  pleasure  in  motionless, 
patient,  almost  dogged  silence.  The  strong,  sin- 
ewy hands  were  clasped  and  rested  upon  the  long, 

heavy  sword,  around  the  scabbard  of  which  the 

271 


belt  was  loosely  wrapped,  and  the  plates  of  mail 
caught  and  reflected  in  flashing,  broken  pieces, 
the  bright  sunlight  from  the  window  behind. 

"Sir  Myles,"  said  the  Earl,  suddenly,  breaking 
the  silence  at  last,  "dost  thou  know  why  I  sent 
for  thee  hither?" 

"Aye,"  said  Myles,  calmly,  "how  can  I  else? 
Thou  wouldst  not  have  called  me  from  Paris 
but  for  one  thing.  Methinks  thou  hast  sent  for 
me  to  fight  the  Earl  of  Alban,  and  lo!  I  am 
here." 

"Thou  speakest  very  boldly,"  said  the  Earl. 
"I  do  hope  that  thy  deeds  be  as  bold  as  thy 
words." 

"That,"  said  Myles,  "thou  must  ask  other  men, 
Methinks  no  one  may  justly  call  me  coward." 

"By  my  troth!"  said  the  Earl,  smiling,  "looking 
upon  thee — limbs  and  girth,  bone  and  sinew — 
I  would  not  like  to  be  the  he  that  would  dare 
accuse  thee  of  such  a  thing.  As  for  thy  sur- 
mise, I  may  tell  thee  plain  that  thou  art  right, 
and  that  it  was  to  fight  the  Earl  of  Alban  I 
sent  for  thee  hither.  The  time  is  now  nearly 
ripe,  and  I  will  straightway  send  for  thy  father 
to  come  to  London.  Meantime  it  would  not  be 
safe  either  for  thee  or  for  me  to  keep  thee  in 
my  service.     I  have  spoken  to  his  Highness  the 

Prince  of  Wales,  who,  with  other  of  the  Princes, 

272 


is  upon  our  side  in  this  quarrel.  He  hath  prom- 
ised  to  take  thee  into  his  service  until  the  fitting 
time  comes  to  bring  thee  and  thine  enemy  to- 
gether, and  to-morrow  I  shall  take  thee  to  Scot- 
land Yard,  where  his  Highness  is  now  lodging," 

As  the  Earl  ended  his  speech,  Myles  bowed, 
but  did  not  speak.  The  Earl  waited  for  a  little 
while,  as  though  to  give  him  the  opportunity  to 
answer. 

"Well,  sirrah,"  said  he  at  last,  with  a  shade  of 
impatience,  "hast  thou  naught  to  say?  Meseems 
thou  takest  all  this  with  marvellous  coolness." 

"Have  I  then  my  Lord's  permission  to  speak 
my  mind?" 

"Aye,"  said  the  Earl,  "say  thy  say." 

"Sir,"  said  Myles,  "I  have  thought  and  pon- 
dered this  matter  much  while  abroad,  and  would 
now  ask  thee  a  plain  question  in  all  honesty  an 
I  ha'  thy  leave." 

The  Earl  nodded  his  head. 

"Sir,  am  I  not  right  in  believing  that  thou  hast 
certain  weighty  purposes  and  aims  of  thine  own 
to  gain  an  I  win  this  battle  against  the  Earl  of 
Alban?" 

"Has  my  brother  George  been  telling  thee 
aught  to  such  a  purpose?"  said  the  Earl,  after  a 
moment  or  two  of  silence. 

Myles  did  not  answer, 
s  273 


"  No  matter,"  added  Lord  Mackworth.  "  I  will 
not  ask  thee  who  told  thee  such  a  thing.  As  for 
thy  question — well,  sin  thou  ask  it  frankly,  I  will 
be  frank  with  thee.  Yea ;  I  have  certain  ends  to 
gain  in  having  the  Earl  of  Alban  overthrown." 

Myles  bowed.  "Sir,"  said  he,  "haply  thine 
ends  are  as  much  beyond  aught  that  I  can  com- 
prehend as  though  I  were  a  little  child ;  only  this 
I  know,  that  they  must  be  very  great.  Thou 
knowest  well  that  in  any  case  I  would  fight  me 
this  battle  for  my  father's  sake  and  for  the  honor 
of  my  house ;  nevertheless,  in  return  for  all  that 
it  will  so  greatly  advantage  thee,  wilt  thou  not 
grant  me  a  boon  in  return  should  I  overcome 
mine  enemy?" 

"What  is  thy  boon,  Sir  Myles?" 

"That  thou  wilt  grant  me  thy  favor  to  seek 
the  Lady  Alice  de  Mowbray  for  my  wife." 

The  Earl  of  Mackworth  started  up  from  his 
seat.  "Sir  Myles  Falworth" — he  began,  violent- 
ly, and  then  stopped  short,  drawing  his  bushy  eye- 
brows together  into  a  frown,  stern,  if  not  sinister. 

Myles  withstood  his  look  calmly  and  impas- 
sively, and  presently  the  Earl  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  strode  to  the  open  window.  A  long  time 
passed  in  silence  while  he  stood  there,  gazing 
out  of  the  window  into  the  garden  beyond  with 
his  back  to  the  young  man. 

274 


Suddenly  he  swung  around  again.  "Sir  Myles," 
said  he,  "the  family  of  Falworth  is  as  good  as 
any  in  Derbyshire.  Just  now  it  is  poor  and 
fallen  in  estate,  but  if  it  is  again  placed  in  credit 
and  honor,  thou,  who  art  the  son  of  the  house, 
shalt  have  thy  suit  weighed  with  as  much  re- 
spect and  consideration  as  though  thou  wert  my 
peer  in  all  things.  Such  is  my  answer.  Art  thou 
satisfied?" 

"I  could  ask  no  more,"  answered  Myles. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

That  night  Myles  lodged  at  Mackworth  House. 
The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  he  had  broken  his 
fast,  which  he  did  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  apart- 
ments, the  Earl  bade  him  and  Gascoyne  to  make 
ready  for  the  barge,  which  was  then  waiting  at 
the  river  stairs  to  take  them  to  Scotland  Yard. 

The  Earl  himself  accompanied  them,  and  as 
the  heavy  snub-nosed  boat,  rowed  by  the  six  oars- 
men in  Mackworth  livery,  slid  slowly  and  heavily 
up  against  the  stream,  the  Earl,  leaning  back  in 
his  cushioned  seat,  pointed  out  the  various  inns 
of  the  great  priests  or  nobles;  palatial  town 
residences  standing  mostly  a  little  distance  back 
from  the  water  behind  terraced  high -walled  gar- 
dens and  lawns.  Yon  was  the  Bishop  of  Exeter's 
Close ;  yon  was  the  Bishop  of  Bath's ;  that  was 
York  House;  and  that  Chester  Inn.  So  pass- 
ing by  gardens  and  lawns  and  palaces,  they  came 
at  last  to  Scotland  Yard  stairs,  a  broad  flight  of 

marble  steps  that  led  upward  to  a  stone  platform 

276 


above,  upon  which  opened  the  gate -way  of  the 
garden  beyond. 

The  Scotland  Yard  of  Myles  Falworth's  day 
was  one  of  the  more  pretentious  and  commodi- 
ous of  the  palaces  of  the  Strand.  It  took  its 
name  from  having  been  from  ancient  times  the 
London  inn  which  the  tributary  Kings  of  Scot- 
land occupied  when  on  their  periodical  visits  of 
homage  to  England.  Now,  during  this  time  of 
Scotland's  independence,  the  Prince  of  Wales 
had  taken  up  his  lodging  in  the  old  palace,  and 
made  it  noisy  with  the  mad,  boisterous  mirth  of 
his  court. 

As  the  watermen  drew  the  barge  close  to  the 
landing-place  of  the  stairs,  the  Earl  stepped 
ashore,  and  followed  by  Myles  and  Gascoyne, 
ascended  to  the  broad  gate-way  of  the  river  wall 
of  the  garden.  Three  men-at-arms  who  lounged 
upon  a  bench  under  the  shade  of  the  little  pent- 
roof  of  a  guard-house  beside  the  wall,  arose  and 
saluted  as  the  well-known  figure  of  the  Earl 
mounted  the  steps.  The  Earl  nodded  a  cool 
answer,  and  passing  unchallenged  through  the 
gate,  led  the  way  up  a  pleached  walk,  beyond 
which,  as  Myles  could  see,  there  stretched  a  lit- 
tle grassy  lawn  and  a  stone-paved  terrace.  As 
the  Earl  and  the  two  young  men  approached 
the  end  of  the  walk,  they  were  met  by  the  sound 

211 


of  voices  and  laughter,  the  clinking  of  glasses 
and  the  rattle  of  dishes.  Turning  a  corner,  they 
came  suddenly  upon  a  party  of  young  gentlemen, 
who  sat  at  a  late  breakfast  under  the  shade  of  a 
wide -spreading  lime-tree.  They  had  evidently 
just  left  the  tilt-yard,  for  two  of  the  guests— 
sturdy,  thick-set  young  knights — yet  wore  a  part 
of  their  tilting  armor. 

Behind  the  merry  scene  stood  the  gray,  hoary 
old  palace,  a  steep  flight  of  stone  steps,  and  a 
long,  open,  stone-arched  gallery,  which  evidently 
led  to  the  kitchen  beyond,  for  along  it  hurried 
serving-men,  running  up  and  down  the  tall  flight 
of  steps,  and  bearing  trays  and  dishes  and  cups 
and  flagons.  It  was  a  merry  sight  and  a  pleas- 
ant one.  The  day  was  warm  and  balmy,  and 
the  yellow  sunlight  fell  in  waving  uncertain 
patches  of  light,  dappling  the  table-cloth,  and 
twinkling  and  sparkling  upon  the  dishes,  cups, 
and  flagons. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  sat  a  young  man  some 
three  or  four  years  older  than  Myles,  dressed  in 
a  full  suit  of  rich  blue  brocaded  velvet,  embroid- 
ered with  gold-thread  and  trimmed  with  black 
fur.  His  face,  which  was  turned  towards  them  as 
they  mounted  from  the  lawn  to  the  little  stone- 
flagged  terrace,  was  frank  and  open ;  the  cheeks 

smooth  and  fair ;  the  eyes  dark  and  blue.     He 

278 


was  tall  and  rather  slight,  and  wore  his  thick  yel- 
low hair  hanging  to  his  shoulders,  where  it  was 
cut  square  across,  after  the  manner  of  the  times. 
Myles  did  not  need  to  be  told  that  it  was  the 
Prince  of  Wales. 

"  Ho,  Gaffer  Fox !"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  Earl  of  Mackworth,  "  what 
wind  blows  thee  hither  among  us  wild  mallard 
drakes  ?  I  warrant  it  is  not  for  love  of  us,  but 
only  to  fill  thine  own  larder  after  the  manner  of 
Sir  Fox  among  the  drakes.  Whom  hast  thou 
with  thee?  Some  gosling  thou  art  about  to 
pluck?" 

A  sudden  hush  fell  upon  the  company,  and  all 
faces  were  turned  towards  the  visitors. 

The  Earl  bowed  with  a  soft  smile.  "  Your 
Highness,"  said  he,  smoothly,  "is  pleased  to  be 
pleasant.  Sir,  I  bring  you  the  young  knight  of 
whom  I  spoke  to  you  some  time  since — Sir  Myles 
Falworth.  You  may  be  pleased  to  bring  to  mind 
that  you  so  condescended  as  to  promise  to  take 
him  into  your  train  until  the  fitting  time  arrived 
for  that  certain  matter  of  which  we  spoke." 

"  Sir  Myles,"  said  the  Prince  of  Wales,  with  a 
frank,  pleasant  smile,  "  I  have  heard  great  reports 
of  thy  skill  and  prowess  in  France,  both  from 
Mackworth  and  from  others.  It  will  pleasure 
me  greatly  to  have  thee  in  my  household ;  more 

279 


especially,"  he  added,  "  as  it  will  get  thee,  callow 
as  thou  art,  out  of  my  Lord  Fox's  clutches.  Our 
faction  cannot  do  without  the  Earl  of  Mack- 
worth's  cunning  wits,  Sir  Myles ;  ne'theless  I 
would  not  like  to  put  all  my  fate  and  fortune 
into  his  hands  without  bond.  I  hope  that  thou 
dost  not  rest  thy  fortunes  entirely  upon  his  aid 
and  countenance." 

All  who  were  present  felt  the  discomfort  of 
the  Prince's  speech.  It  was  evident  that  one 
of  his  mad,  wild  humors  was  upon  him.  In 
another  case  the  hare-brained  young  courtiers 
around  might  have  taken  their  cue  from  him, 
but  the  Earl  of  Mackworth  was  no  subject  for 
their  gibes  and  witticisms.  A  constrained  si- 
lence fell,  in  which  the  Earl  alone  maintained  a 
perfect  ease  of  manner. 

Myles  bowed  to  hide  his  own  embarrassment. 
"Your  Highness,"  said  he,  evasively,  "  I  rest  my 
fortune,  first  of  all,  upon  God,  His  strength  and 
justice." 

"  Thou  wilt  find  safer  dependence  there  than 
upon  the  Lord  of  Mackworth,"  said  the  Prince, 
dryly.  "  But  come,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden 
chance  of  voice  and  manner,  "  these  be  jests  that 
border  too  closely  upon  bitter  earnest  for  a  merry 
breakfast.  It  is  ill  to  idle  with  ed^ed  tools.  Wilt 
thou  not  stay  and  break  thy  fast  with  us,  my  Lord?" 

-  a8cu 


"  Pardon  me,  your  Highness,"  said  the  Earl, 
.bowing,  and  smiling  the  same  smooth  smile  his 
lips  had  worn  from  the  first — such  a  smile  as 
Myles  had  never  thought  to  have  seen  upon  his 
haughty  face ;  "  I  crave  your  good  leave  to  de- 
cline. I  must  return  home  presently,  for  even 
now,  haply,  your  uncle,  his  Grace  of  Winchester, 
is  awaiting  my  coming  upon  the  business  you 
wot  of.  Haply  your  Highness  will  find  more 
joyance  in  a  lusty  young  knight  like  Sir  Myles 
than  in  an  old  fox  like  myself.  So  I  leave  him 
with  you,  in  your  good  care." 

Such  was  Myles's  introduction  to  the  wild 
young  madcap  Prince  of  Wales,  afterwards  the 
famous  Henry  V.,  the  conqueror  of  France. 

For  a  month  or  more  thereafter  he  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  princely  household,  and,  after  a  little 
while,  a  trusted  and  honored  member.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  calm  sturdy  strength,  the  courage  of 
the  young  knight,  that  first  appealed  to  the 
Prince's  royal  heart ;  perhaps  atterwards  it  was 
the  more  sterling  qualities  that  underlaid  that 
courage  that  drew  him  to  the  young  man ;  cer- 
tain it  was  that  in  two  weeks  Myles  was  the 
acknowledged  favorite.  He  made  no  protestation 
of  virtue ;  he  always  accompanied  the  Prince  in 
those  madcap  ventures  to  London,  where  he  be- 
held all  manner  of  wild  revelry;   he  never  held 


281 


himself  aloof  from  his  gay  comrades,  but  he 
looked  upon  all  their  mad  sports  with  the  same 
calm  gaze  that  had  carried  him  without  taint 
through  the  courts  of  Burgundy  and  the  Dau- 
phin. The  gay,  roistering  young  lords  and  gen- 
tlemen dubbed  him  Saint  Myles,  and  jested  with 
him  about  hair-cloth  shirts  and  flagellations,  but 
witticism  and  jest  alike  failed  to  move  Myles's 
patient  virtue  ;  he  went  his  own  gait  in  the  habits 
of  his  life,  and  in  so  going  knew  as  little  as  the 
others  of  the  mad  court  that  the  Prince's  growing 
liking  for  him  was,  perhaps,  more  than  all  else, 
on  account  of  that  very  temperance. 

Then,  by-and-by,  the  Prince  began  to  confide 
in  him  as  he  did  in  none  of  the  others.  There 
was  no  great  love  betwixt  the  King  and  his  son ; 
it  has  happened  very  often  that  the  Kings  of 
England  have  felt  bitter  jealousy  towards  the 
heirs-apparent  as  they  have  grown  in  power,  and 
such  was  the  case  with  the  great  King  Henry  IV. 
The  Prince  often  spoke  to  Myles  of  the  clashing 
and  jarring  between  himself  and  his  father,  and 
the  thought  began  to  come  to  Myles's  mind  by  de- 
grees that  maybe  the  King's  jealousy  accounted 
not  a  little  for  the  Prince's  reckless  intemperance. 

Once,  for  instance,  as  the  Prince  leaned  upon 
his  shoulder  waiting,  whilst  the  attendants  made 

ready  the  barge  that  was  to  carry  them  down  the 

282 


river  to  the  city,  he  said,  abruptly :  "  Myles,  what 
thinkest  thou  of  us  all?  Doth  not  thy  honesty 
hold  us  in  contempt?" 

"  Nay,  Highness,"  said  Myles.  "  How  could  I 
hold  contempt  ?" 

"  Marry,"  said  the  Prince,  "  I  myself  hold  con- 
tempt, and  am  not  as  honest  a  man  as  thou.  But, 
prithee,  have  patience  with  me,  Myles.  Some 
day,  perhaps,  I  too  will  live  a  clean  life.  Now, 
an  I  live  seriously,  the  King  will  be  more  jealous 
of  me  than  ever,  and  that  is  not  a  little.  May- 
be I  live  thus  so  that  he  may  not  know  what  I 
really  am  in  soothly  earnest." 

The  Prince  also  often  talked  to  Myles  concern- 
ing his  own  affairs  ;  of  the  battle  he  was  to  fight 
for  his  father's  honor,  of  how  the  Earl  of  Mack- 
worth  had  plotted  and  planned  to  bring  him  face 
to  face  with  the  Earl  of  Alban.  He  spoke  to 
Myles  more  than  once  of  the  many  great  changes 
of  state  and  party  that  hung  upon  the  downfall 
of  the  enemy  of  the  house  of  Falworth,  and 
showed  him  how  no  hand  but  his  own  could 
strike  that  enemy  down;  if  he  fell,  it  must  be 
through  the  son  of  Falworth.  Sometimes  it 
seemed  to  Myles  as  though  he  and  his  blind 
father  were  the  centre  of  a  great  web  of  plot  and 
intrigue,  stretching   far  and  wide,   that  included 

not   only  the   greatest  houses   of  England,  but 

283 


royalty  and  the  political  balance  of  the  country 
as  well,  and  even  before  the  greatness  of  it  all 
he  did  not  flinch. 

Then,  at  last,  came  the  beginning  of  the  time 
for  action.  It  was  in  the  early  part  of  May,  and 
Myles  had  been  a  member  of  the  Prince's  house- 
hold for  a  little  over  a  month.  One  morning  he 
was  ordered  to  attend  the  Prince  in  his  privy 
cabinet,  and,  obeying  the  summons,  he  found  the 
Prince,  his  younger  brother,  the  Duke  of  Bedford, 
and  his  uncle,  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  seated  at 
a  table,  where  they  had  just  been  refreshing  them- 
selves with  a  flagon  of  wine  and  a  plate  of  wafers. 

"  My  poor  Myles,"  said  the  Prince,  smiling,  as 
the  young  knight  bowed  to  the  three,  and  then 
stood  erect,  as  though  on  duty.  "  It  shames  my 
heart,  brother — and  thou,  uncle — it  shames  my 
heart  to  be  one  privy  to  this  thing  which  we 
are  set  upon  to  do.  Here  be  we,  the  greatest 
Lords  of  England,  making  a  cat's-paw  of  this  lad 
— for  he  is  only  yet  a  boy — and  of  his  blind  fa- 
ther, for  to  achieve  our  ends  against  Alban's  fac- 
tion.    It  seemeth  not  over-honorable  to  my  mind." 

"  Pardon  me,  your  Highness,"  said  Myles,  blush- 
ing to  the  roots  of  his  hair ;  "  but,  an  I  may  be 
so  bold  as  to  speak,  I  reck  nothing  of  what  your 
aims  may  be ;  I  only  look  to  restoring  my  fa- 
ther's honor  and  the  honor  of  our  house," 

284 


"  Truly,"  said  the  Prince,  smiling,  "  that  is  the 
only  matter  that  maketh  me  willing  to  lay  my 
hands  to  this  business.  Dost  thou  know  why  I 
have  sent  for  thee  ?  It  is  because  this  day  thou 
must  challenge  the  Duke  of  Alban  before  the 
Kins:.  The  Earl  of  Mackworth  has  laid  all  his 
plans  and  the  time  is  now  ripe.  Knowest  that 
thy  father  is  at  Mackworth  House  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Myles ;  "  I  knew  it  not." 

"  He  hath  been  there  for  nearly  two  days,"  said 
the  Prince.  "  Just  now  the  Earl  hath  sent  for  us 
to  come  first  to  Mackworth  House.  Then  to  2:0 
to  the  palace,  for  he  hath  gained  audience  with 
the  King,  and  hath  so  arranged  it  that  the  Earl  of 
Alban  is  to  be  there  as  well.  We  all  go  straight- 
way ;  so  get  thyself  ready  as  soon  as  may  be." 

Perhaps  Myles's  heart  began  beating  more 
quickly  within  him  at  the  nearness  of  that  great 
happening  which  he  had  looked  forward  to  for 
so  long.  If  it  did,  he  made  no  sign  of  his  emo- 
tion, but  only  asked,  "  How  must  I  clothe  myself, 
your  Highness  ?" 

"Wear  thy  light  armor,"  said  the  Prince,  "but 
no  helmet,  a  juppon  bearing  the  arms  and  colors 
that  the  Earl  gave  thee  when  thou  wert  knighted, 
and  carry  thy  right-hand  gauntlet  under  thy  belt 
for  thy  challenge.     Now  make  haste,  for  time 

passes." 

285 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Adjoining  the  ancient  palace  of  Westminster, 
where  King  Henry  IV.  was  then  holding  his 
court,  was  a  no  less  ancient  stone  building  known 
as  the  Painted  Room.  Upon  the  walls  were  de- 
picted a  series  of  battle  scenes  in  long  bands 
reaching  around  this  room,  one  above  another. 
Some  of  these  pictures  had  been  painted  as  far 
back  as  the  days  of  Henry  III.,  others  had  been 
added  since  his  time.  They  chronicled  the  vari- 
ous wars  of  the  King  of  England,  and  it  was 
from  them  that  the  little  hall  took  its  name  of 
the  Painted  Room. 

This  ancient  wing,  or  offshoot,  of  the  main 
buildings  was  more  retired  from  the  hurly-burly 
of  outer  life  than  other  parts  of  the  palace,  and 
thither  the  sick  King  was  very  fond  of  retiring 
from  the  business  of  State,  which  ever  rested 
more  and  more  heavily  upon  his  shoulders, 
sometimes  to  squander  in  quietness  a  spare  hour 

or  two ;   sometimes  to  idle  over  a  favorite  book ; 

286 


sometimes  to  play  a  game  of  chess  with  a  favor- 
ite courtier.  The  cold  painted  walls  had  been 
hung  with  tapestry,  and  its  floor  had  been  spread 
with  arras  carpet.  These  and  the  cushioned 
couches  and  chairs  that  stood  around  gave  its 
gloomy  antiquity  an  air  of  comfort — an  air  even 
of  luxury. 

It  was  to  this  favorite  retreat  of  the  King's 
that  Myles  was  brought  that  morning  with  his 
father  to  face  the  great  Earl  of  Alban. 

In  the  anteroom  the  little  party  of  Princes 
and  nobles  who  escorted  the  father  and  son 
had  held  a  brief  consultation.  Then  the  others 
had  entered,  leaving  Myles  and  his  blind  father 
in  charge  of  Lord  Lumley  and  two  knights  of 
the  court,  Sir  Reginald  Hallowell  and  Sir  Piers 
Averell. 

Myles,  as  he  stood  patiently  waiting,  with  his 
father's  arm  resting  in  his,  could  hear  the  muffled 
sound  of  voices  from  beyond  the  arras.  Among 
others,  he  recognized  the  well-remembered  tones 
of  the  King.  He  fancied  that  he  heard  his  own 
name  mentioned  more  than  once,  and  then  the 
sound  of  talking  ceased.  The  next  moment  the 
arras  was  drawn  aside,  and  the  Earl  entered  the 
antechamber  again. 

"All  is   ready,  cousin,"  said  he  to   Lord  Fal- 

worth,  in  a  suppressed  voice.     "  Essex  hath  done 

287 


as  he  promised,  and  Alban  is  within  there  now." 
Then,  turning  to  Myles,  speaking  in  the  same 
low  voice,  and  betraying  more  agitation  than 
Myles  had  thought  it  possible  for  him  to  show? 
•'  Sir  Myles,"  said  he,  "  remember  all  that  hath 
been  told  thee.  Thou  knowest  what  thou  hast 
to  say  and  do."  Then,  without  further  word,  he 
took  Lord  Falworth  by  the  hand,  and  led  the 
way  into  the  room,  Myles  following  close  behind. 
The  King  half  sat,  half  reclined,  upon  a  cush- 
ioned seat,  close  to  which  stood  the  two  Princes. 
There  were  some  dozen  others  present,  mostly 
priests  and  noblemen  of  high  quality,  who  clus- 
tered in  a  group  at  a  little  distance.  Myles  knew 
most  of  them  at  a  glance,  having  seen  them  come 
and  go  at  Scotland  Yard.  But  among  them  all, 
he  singled  out  only  one — the  Earl  of  Alban. 
He  had  not  seen  that  face  since  he  was  a  little 
child  eight  years  old,  but  now  that  he  beheld  it 
again,  it  fitted  instantly  and  vividly  into  the  re- 
membrance of  the  time  of  that  terrible  scene  at 
Falworth  Castle,  when  he  had  beheld  the  then 
Lord  Brookhurst  standing  above  the  dead  body 
of  Sir  John  Dale,  with  the  bloody  mace  clinched 
in  his  hand.  There  were  the  same  heavy  black 
brows,  sinister  and  gloomy,  the  same  hooked 
nose,  the  same  swarthy  cheeks.  He  even  re- 
membered the  deep  dent  in  the  forehead,  where 


288 


the  brows  met  in  perpetual  frown.  So  it  was 
that  upon  that  face  his  looks  centred  and  rested. 

The  Earl  of  Alban  had  just  been  speaking  to 
some  Lord  who  stood  beside  him,  and  a  half- 
smile  still  hung  about  the  corners  of  his  lips. 
At  first,  as  he  looked  up  at  the  entrance  of  the  new- 
comers, there  was  no  other  expression ;  then  sud- 
denly came  a  flash  of  recognition,  a  look  of  wide- 
eyed  amazement ;  then  the  blood  left  the  cheeks 
and  the  lips,  and  the  face  grew  very  pale.  No 
doubt  he  saw  at  a  flash  that  some  great  danger 
overhung  him  in  this  sudden  coming  of  his  old 
enemy,  for  he  was  as  keen  and  as  astute  a  politi- 
cian as  he  was  a  famous  warrior.  At  least  he 
knew  that  the  eyes  of  most  of  those  present  were 
fixed  keenly  and  searchingly  upon  him.  After 
the  first  start  of  recognition,  his  left  hand,  hang- 
ing at  his  side,  gradually  closed  around  the  scab- 
bard of  his  sword,  clutching  it  in  a  vice-like  grip. 

Meantime  the  Earl  of  Mackworth  had  led  the 
blind  Lord  to  the  King,  where  both  kneeled. 

"  Why,  how  now,  my  Lord  ?"  said  the  King. 
"  Methought  it  was  our  young  Paladin  whom  we 
knighted  at  Devlen  that  was  to  be  presented, 
and  here  thou  bringest  this  old  man.  A  blind 
man,  ha !     What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?" 

"  Majesty,"  said  the  Earl,  "  I  have  taken  this 
chance   to   bring  to   thy  merciful   consideration 

T  289 


one  who  hath  most  wofully  and  unjustly  suffered 
from  thine  anger.  Yonder  stands  the  young 
knight  of  whom  we  spake  ;  this  is  his  father,  Gil- 
bert Reginald,  whilom  Lord  Falworth,  who  craves 
mercy  and  justice  at  thy  hands." 

"  Falworth,"  said  the  King,  placing  his  hand  to 
his  head.  "  The  name  is  not  strange  to  mine  ears, 
but  I  cannot  place  it.  My  head  hath  troubled  me 
sorely  to-day,  and  I  cannot  remember." 

At  this  point  the  Earl  of  Alban  came  quietly 
and  deliberately  forward.  "  Sire,"  said  he,  "  par- 
don my  boldness  in  so  venturing  to  address  you, 
but  haply  I  may  bring  the  name  more  clearly  to 
your  mind.  He  is,  as  my  Lord  of  Mackworth 
said,  the  whilom  Baron  Falworth,  the  outlawed, 
attainted  traitor;  so  declared  for  the  harboring 
of  Sir  John  Dale,  who  was  one  of  those  who 
sought  your  Majesty's  life  at  Windsor  eleven 
years  ago.  Sire,  he  is  mine  enemy  as  well,  and 
is  brought  hither  by  my  proclaimed  enemies. 
Should  aught  occur  to  my  harm,  I  rest  my  case 
in  your  gracious  hands." 

The  dusky  red  flamed  into  the  King's  pale, 
sickly  face  in  answer,  and  he  rose  hastily  from 
his  seat. 

"  Aye,"  said  he,  "  I  remember  me  now — I  re- 
member me  the  man  and  the  name !     Who  hath 

dared  bring  him  here  before  us?"    All  the  dull 

290 


heaviness  of  sickness  was  gone  for  the  moment, 
and  King  Henry  was  the  King  Henry  of  ten 
years  ago  as  he  rolled  his  eyes  balefully  from 
one  to  another  of  the  courtiers  who  stood  silently 
around. 

The  Earl  of  Mackworth  shot  a  covert  glance 
at  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  who  came  forward 
in  answer. 

"  Your  Majesty,"  said  he,  "  here  am  I,  your 
brother,  who  beseech  you  as  your  brother  not  to 
judge  over-hastily  in  this  matter.  It  is  true  that 
this  man  has  been  adjudged  a  traitor,  but  he  has 
been  so  adjudged  without  a  hearing.  I  beseech 
thee  to  listen  patiently  to  whatsoever  he  may 
have  to  say." 

The  King  fixed  the  Bishop  with  a  look  of  the 
bitterest,  deepest  anger,  holding  his  nether  lip 
tightly  under  his  teeth  —  a  trick  he  had  when 
strongly  moved  with  anger — and  the  Bishop's 
eyes  fell  under  the  look.  Meantime  the  Earl  of 
Alban  stood  calm  and  silent.  No  doubt  he  saw 
that  the  King's  anger  was  likely  to  befriend  him 
more  than  any  words  that  he  himself  could  say, 
and  he  perilled  his  case  with  no  more  speech 
which  could  only  prove  superfluous. 

At  last  the  King  turned  a  face  red  and  swollen 
with  anger  to  the  blind  Lord,  who  still  kneeled 
before  him. 

2QI 


"  What  hast  thou  to  say  ?"  he  said,  in  a  deep 
and  sullen  voice. 

"  Gracious  and  merciful  Lord,"  said  the  blind 
nobleman,  "  I  come  to  thee,  the  fountain-head  of 
justice,  craving  justice.  Sire,  I  do  now  and  here 
deny  my  treason,  which  denial  I  could  not  before 
make,  being  blind  and  helpless,  and  mine  enemies 
strong  and  malignant.  But  now,  sire,  Heaven 
hath  sent  me  help,  and  therefore  I  do  acclaim  be- 
fore thee  that  my  accuser,  William  Bushy  Brook- 
hurst,  Earl  of  Alban,  is  a  foul  and  an  attainted 
liar  in  all  that  he  hath  accused  me  of.  To  up- 
hold which  allegation,  and  to  defend  me,  who 
am  blinded  by  his  unknightliness,  I  do  offer  a 
champion  to  prove  all  that  I  say  with  his  body 
in  combat." 

The  Earl  of  Mackworth  darted  a  quick  look 
at  Myles,  who  came  forward  the  moment  his 
father  had  ended,  and  kneeled  beside  him.  The 
King  offered  no  interruption  to  his  speech,  but 
he  bent  a  look  heavy  with  anger  upon  the  young 
man. 

"  My  gracious   Lord  and   King,"  said   Myles, 

"  I,  the  son  of  the  accused,  do  offer  myself  as  his 

champion  in  this  cause,  beseeching  thee  of  thy 

grace  leave  to  prove  the  truth  of  the  same,  being 

a  belted  knight  by  thy  grace  and  of  thy  creation, 

and  the  peer  of  any  who  weareth  spurs."     There- 

292 


I 


}- 


u> 


'«*» 


V: 


Vv  # 


upon,  rising,  he  drew  his  iron  gauntlet  from  his 
girdle,  and  flung  it  clashing  down  upon  the  floor, 
and  with  his  heart  swelling  within  him  with  an- 
ger and  indignation  and  pity  of  his  blind  father, 
he  cried,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  I  do  accuse  thee, 
William  of  Alban,  that  thou  liest  vilely  as  afore- 
said, and  here  cast  down  my  gage,  daring  thee 
to  take  it  up." 

The  Earl  of  Alban  made  as  though  he  would 
accept  the  challenge,  but  the  King  stopped  him 
hastily. 

"  Stop !"  he  cried,  harshly.  "  Touch  not  the 
gage  !  Let  it  lie — let  it  lie,  I  tell  thee,  my  Lord  ! 
Now,  then,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  others,  "  tell 
me  what  meaneth  all  this  coil  ?  Who  brought 
this  man  hither?" 

He  looked  from  one  to  another  of  those  who 
stood  silently  around,  but  no  one  answered. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  "  ye  all  have  had  to  do  with  it. 
It  is  as  my  Lord  of  Alban  sayeth ;  ye  are  his 
enemies,  and  ye  are  my  enemies  as  well.  In  this 
I  do  smell  a  vile  plot.  I  cannot  undo  what  I 
have  done,  and  since  I  have  made  this  young 
man  a  knight  with  mine  own  hands,  I  cannot 
deny  that  he  is  fit  to  challenge  my  Lord  of  Al- 
ban. Ne'theless,  the  High  Court  of  Chivalry 
shall  adjudge  this  case.  Meantime,"  said  he, 
turning  to   the  Earl  Marshal,  who  was  present, 


"I  give  thee  this  attainted  Lord  in  charge.  Con« 
vey  him  presently  to  the  Tower,  and  let  him 
abide  our  pleasure  there.  Also,  thou  mayst  take 
up  yon  gage,  and  keep  it  till  it  is  redeemed  ac- 
cording to  our  pleasure," 

He  stood  thoughtfully  for  a  moment,  and  then 
raising  his  eyes,  looked  fixedly  at  the  Earl  of 
Mackworth.  "  I  know,"  he  said,  "  that  I  be  a 
right  sick  man,  and  there  be  some  who  are  al- 
ready plotting  to  overthrow  those  who  have  held 
up  my  hand  with  their  own  strength  for  all  these 
years."  Then  speaking  more  directly:  "  My  Lord 
Earl  of  Mackworth,  I  see  your  hand  in  this  be- 
fore all  others.  It  was  thou  who  so  played  upon 
me  as  to  get  me  to  knight  this  young  man,  and 
thus  make  him  worthy  to  challenge  my  Lord  of 
Alban.  It  was  thy  doings  that  brought  him 
here  to-day,  backed  by  mine  own  sons  and  my 
brother  and  by  these  noblemen."  Then  turning 
suddenly  to  the  Earl  of  Alban :  "  Come,  my 
Lord,"  said  he ;  "I  am  aweary  with  all  this  coil. 
Lend  me  thine  arm  to  leave  this  place."  So  it 
was  that  he  left  the  room,  leaning  upon  the 
Earl  of  Alban's  arm,  and  followed  by  the  two 
or  three  of  the  Alban  faction  who  were  present. 

"  Your  Royal  Highness,"  said  the  Earl  Mar- 
shal, "  I  must  e'en  do   the  King's   bidding,  and 

take  this  gentleman  into  arrest." 

294 


"  Do  thy  duty,"  said  the  Prince.  "  We  knew 
it  must  come  to  this.  Meanwhile  he  is  to  be 
a  prisoner  of  honor,  and  see  that  he  be  well 
lodged  and  cared  for.  Thou  wilt  find  my  barge 
at  the  stairs  to  convey  him  down  the  river, 
and  I  myself  will  come  this  afternoon  to  visit 
him," 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

It  was  not  until  the  end  of  July  that  the  High 
Court  of  Chivalry  rendered  its  judgment  There 
were  many  unusual  points  in  the  case,  some  of 
which  bore  heavily  against  Lord  Falworth,  some 
of  which  were  in  his  favor.  He  was  very  ably 
defended  by  the  lawyers  whom  the  Earl  of  Mack- 
worth  had  engaged  upon  his  side ;  nevertheless, 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  the  judgment,  no 
doubt,  would  have  been  quickly  rendered  against 
him.  As  it  was,  however,  the  circumstances  were 
not  ordinary,  and  it  was  rendered  in  his  favor. 
The  Court  besought  the  King  to  grant  the  ordeal 
by  battle,  to  accept  Lord  Falworth's  champion, 
and  to  appoint  the  time  and  place  for  the  meet- 
ins;. 

The  decision  must  have  been  a  most  bitter, 
galling  one  for  the  sick  King.  He  was  naturally 
of  a  generous,  forgiving  nature,  but  Lord  Fal- 
worth in  his  time  of  power  had  been  an  unre- 
lenting and  fearless  opponent,  and  his  Majesty, 

296 


who,  like  most  generous  men,  could  on  occasions 
be  very  cruel  and  intolerant,  had  never  forgiven 
him.  He  had  steadily  thrown  the  might  of  his 
influence  with  the  Court  against  the  Falworths' 
case,  but  that  influence  was  no  longer  all-power- 
ful for  good  or  ill.  He  was  failing  in  health,  and 
it  could  only  be  a  matter  of  a  few  years,  probably 
of  only  a  few  months,  before  his  successor  sat 
upon  the  throne. 

Upon  the  other  hand,  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
faction  had  been  steadily,  and  of  late  rapidly,  in- 
creasing in  power,  and  in  the  Earl  of  Mackworth, 
its  virtual  head,  it  possessed  one  of  the  most  capa- 
ble politicians  and  astute  intriguers  in  Europe. 
So,  as  the  outcome  of  all  the  plotting  and  coun- 
ter-plotting, scheming  and  counter-scheming,  the 
case  was  decided  in  Lord  Falworth's  favor.  The 
knowledge  of  the  ultimate  result  was  known  to 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  circle  almost  a  week  before 
it  was  finally  decided.  Indeed,  the  Earl  of  Mack- 
worth  had  made  pretty  sure  of  that  result  before 
he  had  summoned  Myles  from  France,  but  upon 
the  King  it  fell  like  the  shock  of  a  sudden  blow. 
All  that  day  he  kept  himself  in  moody  seclusion, 
nursing  his  silent,  bitter  anger,  and  making  only 
one  outbreak,  in  which  he  swore  by  the  Holy 
Rood  that  should  Myles  be  worsted  in  the  en- 
counter, he  would  not  take  the  battle  into  his  own 

u 

297 


hands,  but  would  suffer  him  to  be  slain,  and 
furthermore,  that  should  the  Earl  show  signs  of 
failing  at  any  time,  he  would  do  all  in  his  pow- 
er to  save  him.  One  of  the  courtiers  who  had 
been  present,  and  who  was  secretly  inclined  to 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  faction,  had  repeated  this 
speech  at  Scotland  Yard,  and  the  Prince  had  said, 

"  That  meaneth,  Myles,  that  thou  must  either 
win  or  die." 

"  And  so  I  would  have  it  to  be,  my  Lord,"  Myles 
had  answered. 

It  was  not  until  nearly  a  fortnight  after  the  de- 
cision of  the  Court  of  Chivalry  had  been  rendered 
that  the  King  announced  the  time  and  place  of 
battle — the  time  to  be  the  3d  of  September,  the 
place  to  be  Smithfield — a  spot  much  used  for 
such  encounters. 

During  the  three  weeks  or  so  that  intervened 
between  this  announcement  and  the  time  of  com- 
bat, Myles  went  nearly  every  day  to  visit  the  lists 
in  course  of  erection.  Often  the  Prince  went  with 
him ;  always  two  or  three  of  his  friends  of  the 
Scotland  Yard  court  accompanied  him. 

The  lists  were  laid  out  in  the  usual  form.  The 
true  or  principal  list  in  which  the  combatants 
were  to  engage  was  sixty  yards  long  and  forty 
yards  wide ;  this  rectangular  space  being  sur- 
rounded by  a  fence  about  six  feet  high,  painted 

...  298 


vermilion.  Between  the  fence  and  the  stand 
where  the  King  and  the  spectators  sat,  and  sur- 
rounding the  central  space,  was  the  outer  or  false 
list,  also  surrounded  by  a  fence.  In  the  false  list 
the  Constable  and  the  Marshal  and  their  followers 
and  attendants  were  to  be  stationed  at  the  time 
of  battle  to  preserve  the  general  peace  during  the 
contest  between  the  principals. 

One  day  as  Myles,  his  princely  patron,  and  his 
friends  entered  the  barriers,  leaving  their  horses 
at  the  outer  gate,  they  met  the  Earl  of  Alban  and 
his  followers,  who  were  just  quitting  the  lists, 
which  they  also  were  in  the  habit  of  visiting 
nearly  every  day.  As  the  two  parties  passed  one 
another,  the  Earl  spoke  to  a  gentleman  walking 
beside  him  and  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be 
clearly  overheard  by  the  others : 

"  Yonder  is  the  young  sprig  of  Falworth,"  said 
he.  "  His  father,  my  Lords,  is  not  content  with 
forfeiting  his  own  life  for  his  treason,  but  must, 
forsooth,  throw  away  his  son's  also.  I  have  faced 
and  overthrown  many  a  better  knight  than  that 
boy." 

Myles  heard  the  speech,  and  knew  that  it  was 
intended  for  him  to  hear  it ;  but  he  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  it,  walking  composedly  at  the  Prince's 
side.  The  Prince  had  also  overheard  it,  and  after 
a  little  space  of  silence  asked, 

,2go 


"  Dost  thou  not  feel  anxiety  for  thy  coming 
battle,  Myles?" 

"  Yea,  my  Lord,"  said  Myles ;  "  sometimes  I  do 
feel  anxiety,  but  not  such  as  my  Lord  of  Alban 
would  have  me  feel  in  uttering  the  speech  that 
he  spake  anon.  It  is  anxiety  for  my  father's  sake 
and  my  mother's  sake  that  I  feel,  for  truly  there 
are  great  matters  for  them  pending  upon  this  fight. 
Ne'theless,  I  do  know  that  God  will  not  desert  me 
in  my  cause,  for  verily  my  father  is  no  traitor." 

"  But  the  Earl  of  Alban,"  said  the  Prince,  grave- 
ly, "  is  reputed  one  of  the  best-skilled  knights  in 
all  England ;  moreover,  he  is  merciless  and  with- 
out generosity,  so  that  an  he  gain  aught  advan- 
tage over  thee,  he  will  surely  slay  thee." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  my  Lord,"  said  Myles,  still 
calmly  and  composedly. 

"  Nor  am  I  afraid  for  thee,  Myles,"  said  the 
Prince,  heartily,  putting  his  arm,  as  he  spoke, 
around  the  young  man's  shoulder;  "for  truly, 
wert  thou  a  knight  of  forty  years,  instead  of  one 
of  twenty,  thou  couldst  not  bear  thyself  with  more 
courage." 

As  the  time  for  the  duel  approached,  the  days 
seemed  to  drag  themselves  along  upon  leaden 
feet ;  nevertheless,  the  days  came  and  went,  as  all 
days  do,  bringing  with  them,  at  last,  the  fateful 
3d  of  September. 

300 


Early  in  the  morning,  while  the  sun  was  still 
level  and  red,  the  Prince  himself,  unattended, 
came  to  Myles's  apartment,  in  the  outer  room  of 
which  Gascoyne  was  bustling  busily  about  arrang- 
ing the  armor  piece  by  piece;  renewing  straps 
and  thongs,  but  not  whistling  over  his  work  as 
he  usually  did.  The  Prince  nodded  to  him,  and 
then  passed  silently  through  to  the  inner  cham- 
ber. Myles  was  upon  his  knees,  and  Father  Am- 
brose, the  Prince's  chaplain,  was  beside  him.  The 
Prince  stood  silently  at  the  door,  until  Myles, 
having  told  his  last  bead,  rose  and  turned  towards 
him. 

"  My  dear  Lord,"  said  the  young  knight,  "  I 
give  you  gramercy  for  the  great  honor  you  do 
me  in  coming  so  early  for  to  visit  me." 

"  Nay,  Myles,  give  me  no  thanks,"  said  the 
Prince,  frankly  reaching  him  his  hand,  which 
Myles  took  and  set  to  his  lips.  "  I  lay  bethink- 
ing me  of  thee  this  morning,  while  yet  in  bed, 
and  so,  as  I  could  not  sleep  any  more,  I  was 
moved  to  come  hither  to  see  thee." 

Quite  a  number  of  the  Prince's  faction  were  at 

the  breakfast  at  Scotland  Yard   that  morning; 

among  others,  the  Earl  of  Mackworth.     All  were 

more  or  less  oppressed  with  anxiety,  for  nearly 

all  of  them  had  staked  much  upon  the  coming 

battle.     If  Alban  conquered,  he  would  be  more 

301 


powerful  to  harm  them  and  to  revenge  himself 
upon  them  than  ever,  and  Myles  was  a  very  young 
champion  upon  whom  to  depend.  Myles  himself, 
perhaps,  showed  as  little  anxiety  as  any ;  he  cer- 
tainly ate  more  heartily  of  his  breakfast  that  morn- 
ing than  many  of  the  others. 

After  the  meal  was  ended,  the  Prince  rose. 
"  The  boat  is  ready  at  the  stairs,"  said  he ;  "  if 
thou  wouldst  go  to  the  Tower  to  visit  thy  father, 
Myles,  before  hearing  mass,  I  and  Cholmondeley 
and  Vere  and  Poins  will  go  with  thee,  if  ye,  Lords 
and  gentlemen,  will  grant  me  your  pardon  for 
leaving  you.  Are  there  any  others  that  thou 
wouldst  have  accompany  thee  ?" 

"  I  would  have  Sir  James  Lee  and  my  squire, 
Master  Gascoyne,  if  thou  art  so  pleased  to  give 
them  leave  to  go,"  answered  Myles. 

"  So  be  it,"  said  the  Prince.  "  We  will  stop  at 
Mackworth  stairs  for  the  knight." 

The  barge  landed  at  the  west  stairs  of  the 
Tower  wharf,  and  the  whole  party  were  received 
with  more  than  usual  civilities  by  the  Governor, 
who  conducted  them  at  once  to  the  Tower  where 
Lord  Falworth  was  lodged.  Lady  Falworth  met 
them  at  the  head  of  the  stairs;  her  eyes  were 
very  red  and  her  face  pale,  and  as  Myles  raised 
her  hand  and  set  a  long  kiss  upon  it,  her  lips 

trembled,  and  she  turned  her  face  quickly  away, 

302 


pressing  her  handkerchief  for  one  moment  to  her 
eyes.  Poor  lady !  What  agony  of  anxiety  and 
dread  did  she  not  suffer  for  her  boy's  sake  that 
day!  Myles  had  not  hidden  both  from  her  and 
his  father  that  he  must  either  win  or  die. 

As  Myles  turned  from  his  mother,  Prior  Ed- 
ward came  out  from  the  inner  chamber,  and  was 
greeted  warmly  by  him.  The  old  priest  had  ar- 
rived in  London  only  the  day  before,  having  come 
down  from  Crosbey  Priory  to  be  with  his  friend's 
family  during  this  their  time  of  terrible  anxiety. 

After  a  little  while  of  general  talk,  the  Prince 
and  his  attendants  retired,  leaving  the  family  to, 
gether,  only  Sir  James  Lee  and  Gascoyne  remain- 
ing behind. 

Many  matters  that  had  been  discussed  before 
were  now  finally  settled,  the  chief  of  which  was 
the  disposition  of  Lady  Falworth  in  case  the  bat- 
tle should  go  against  them.  Then  Myles  took 
his  leave,  kissing  his  mother,  who  began  crying, 
and  comforting  her  with  brave  assurances.  Prior 
Edward  accompanied  him  as  far  as  the  head  of 
the  Tower  stairs,  where  Myles  kneeled  upon  the 
stone  steps,  while  the  good  priest  blessed  him 
and  signed  the  cross  upon  his  forehead.  The 
Prince  was  waiting  in  the  walled  garden  adjoin, 
ing,  and  as  they  rowed  back  again  up  the  river 
to  Scotland  Yard,  all  were  thoughtful  and  serious, 

303 


even    Poins'   and    Vere's   merry   tongues   being 
stilled  from  their  usual  quips  and  jesting. 

It  was  about  the  quarter  of  the  hour  before 
eleven  o'clock  when  Myles,  with  Gascoyne,  set 
forth  for  the  lists.  The  Prince  of  Wales,  together 
with  most  of  his  court,  had  already  gone  on  to 
Smithfield,  leaving  behind  him  six  young  knights 
of  his  household  to  act  as  escort  to  the  young 
champion.  Then  at  last  the  order  to  horse  was 
given;  the  great  gate  swung  open,  and  out  they 
rode,  clattering  and  jingling,  the  sunlight  gleam- 
ing and  flaming  and  flashing  upon  their  polished 
armor.  They  drew  rein  to  the  right,  and  so  rode 
in  a  little  cloud  of  dust  along  the  Strand  Street 
towards  London  town,  with  the  breeze  blowing 
merrily,  and  the  sunlight  shining  as  sweetly  and 
blithesomely  as  though  they  were  riding  to  a 
wedding  rather  than  to  a  grim  and  dreadful  or- 
deal that  meant  either  victory  or  death. 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

In  the  days  of  King  Edward  III.  a  code  of  laws 
relating  to  trial  by  battle  had  been  compiled  for 
one  of  his  sons,  Thomas  of  Woodstock.  In  this 
work  each  and  every  detail,  to  the  most  minute, 
had  been  arranged  and  fixed,  and  from  that  time 
judicial  combats  had  been  regulated  in  accordance 
with  its  mandates. 

It  was  in  obedience  to  this  code  that  Myles 
Falworth  appeared  at  the  east  gate  of  the  lists 
(the  east  gate  being  assigned  by  law  to  the  chal- 
lenger), clad  in  full  armor  of  proof,  attended  by 
Gascoyne,  and  accompanied  by  two  of  the  young 
knights  who  had  acted  as  his  escort  from  Scot 
land  Yard. 

At  the  barriers  he  was  met  by  the  attorney 
Willingwood,  the  chief  lawyer  who  had  conduct- 
ed the  Falworth  case  before  the  High  Court  of 
Chivalry,  and  who  was  to  attend  him  during  the 
administration  of  the  oaths  before  the  King. 

As  Myles  presented  himself  at  the  gate  he  was 

v  305 


met  by  the  Constable,  the  Marshal,  and  their 
immediate  attendants.  The  Constable,  laying 
his  hand  upon  the  bridle-rein,  said,  in  a  loud 
voice :  "  Stand,  Sir  Knight,  and  tell  me  why 
thou  art  come  thus  armed  to  the  gates  of  the 
lists.  What  is  thy  name?  Wherefore  art  thou 
come  ?" 

Myles  answered,  "  I  am  Myles  Falworth,  a 
Knight  of  the  Bath  by  grace  of  his  Majesty  King 
Henry  IV.  and  by  his  creation,  and  do  come 
hither  to  defend  my  challenge  upon  the  body  of 
William  Bushy  Brookhurst,  Earl  of  Alban,  pro- 
claiming him  an  unknightly  knight  and  a  false 
and  perjured  liar,  in  that  he  hath  accused  Gilbert 
Reginald,  Lord  Falworth,  of  treason  against  our 
beloved  Lord,  his  Majesty  the  King,  and  may 
God  defend  the  right !" 

As  he  ended  speaking,  the  Constable  advanced 
close  to  his  side,  and  formally  raising  the  umbril 
of  the  helmet,  looked  him  in  the  face.  There- 
upon, having  approved  his  identity,  he  ordered 
the  gates  to  be  opened,  and  bade  Myles  enter  the 
lists  with  his  squire  and  his  friends. 

At  the  south  side  of  the  lists  a  raised  scaffold- 
ing had  been  built  for  the  King  and  those  who 
looked  on.  It  was  not  unlike  that  which  had 
been  erected  at  Devlen  Castle  when  Myles  had 

first  jousted  as  belted  knight — here  were  the 

306 


same  raised  seat  for  the  King,  the  tapestries,  the 
hangings,  the  fluttering  pennons,  and  the  royal 
standard  floating  above ;  only  here  were  no  fair- 
faced  ladies  looking  down  upon  him,  but  instead, 
stern-browed  Lords  and  knights  in  armor  and 
squires,  and  here  were  no  merry  laughing  and 
buzz  of  talk  and  flutter  of  fans  and  kerchiefs,  but 
all  was  very  quiet  and  serious. 

Myles  riding  upon  his  horse,  with  Gascoyne 
holding  the  bridle-rein,  and  his  attorney  walking 
beside  him  with  his  hand  upon  the  stirrups,  fol- 
lowed the  Constable  across  the  lists  to  an  open 
space  in  front  of  the  seat  where  the  King  sat. 
Then,  having  reached  his  appointed  station,  he 
stopped,  and  the  Constable,  advancing  to  the  foot 
of  the  stair- way  that  led  to  the  dais  above,  an- 
nounced in  a  loud  voice  that  the  challenger  had 
entered  the  lists. 

"  Then  call  the  defendant  straightway,"  said 
the  King,  "  for  noon  draweth  nigh." 

The  day  was  very  warm,  and  the  sun,  bright 
and  unclouded,  shone  fiercely  down  upon  the 
open  lists.  Perhaps  few  men  nowadays  could 
bear  the  scorching  heat  of  iron  plates  such  as 
Myles  wore,  from  which  the  body  was  only  pn> 
tected  by  a  leathern  jacket  and  hose.  But  men's 
bodies  in  those  days  were  tougher  and  more  sea- 
soned to  hardships  of  weather  than  they  are  in 

307 


these  our  times.  Myles  thought  no  more  of  the 
burning  iron  plates  that  incased  him  than  a  mod- 
ern soldier  thinks  of  his  dress  uniform  in  warm 
weather.  Nevertheless,  he  raised  the  umbril  of 
his  helmet  to  cool  his  face  as  he  waited  the 
coming  of  his  opponent.  He  turned  his  eyes  up- 
ward to  the  row  of  seats  on  the  scaffolding  above, 
and  even  in  the  restless,  bewildering  multitude  of 
strange  faces  turned  towards  him  recognized 
those  that  he  knew:  the  Prince  of  Wales,  his 
companions  of  the  Scotland  Yard  household,  the 
Duke  of  Clarence,  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  and 
some  of  the  noblemen  of  the  Earl  of  Mackworth's 
party,  who  had  been  buzzing  about  the  Prince 
for  the  past  month  or  so.  But  his  glance  swept 
over  all  these,  rather  perceiving  than  seeing  them, 
and  then  rested  upon  a  square  box-like  compart- 
ment not  unlike  a  prisoner's  dock  in  the  court- 
room of  our  day,  for  in  the  box  sat  his  father, 
with  the  Earl  of  Mackworth  upon  one  side  and 
Sir  James  Lee  upon  the  other.  The  blind  man's 
face  was  very  pale,  but  still  wore  its  usual  expres. 
sion  of  calm  serenity — the  calm  serenity  of  a 
blind  face.  The  Earl  was  also  very  pale,  and  he 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  upon  Myles  with  a 
keen  and  searching  look,  as  though  to  pierce  to 
the  very  bottom  of  the  young  man's  heart,  and 

discover  if  indeed  not  one  little  fragment  of  dry- 

308 


rot  of  fear  or  uncertainty  tainted  the  solid  cour- 
age of  his  knighthood. 

Then  he  heard  the  criers  calling  the  defendant 
at  the  four  corners  of  the  list :  "  Oyez !  Oyez ! 
Oyez!  William  Bushy  Brookhurst,  Earl  of  Alban, 
come  to  this  combat,  in  which  you  be  enterprised 
this  day  to  discharge  your  sureties  before  the 
King,  the  Constable,  and  the  Marshal,  and  to  en- 
counter in  your  defence  Myles  Falworth,  knight, 
the  accepted  champion  upon  behalf  of  Gilbert 
Reginald  Falworth,  the  challenger !  Oyez  !  Oyez  ! 
Oyez !     Let  the  defendant  come !" 

So  they  continued  calling,  until,  by  the  sudden 
turning  of  all  faces,  Myles  knew  that  his  enemy 
was  at  hand. 

Then  presently  he  saw  the  Earl  and  his  attend- 
ants enter  the  outer  gate  at  the  west  end  of  the 
barrier;  he  saw  the  Constable  and  Marshal  meet 
him;  he  saw  the  formal  words  of  greeting  pass; 
he  saw  the  Constable  raise  the  umbril  of  the 
helmet.  Then  the  gate  opened,  and  the  Earl  of 
Alban  entered,  clad  cap-a-pie  in  a  full  suit  of  mag- 
nificent Milan  armor  without  juppon  or  adorn, 
ment  of  any  kind.  As  he  approached  across  the 
lists,  Myles  closed  the  umbril  of  his  helmet,  and 
then  sat  quite  still  and  motionless,  for  the  time 
was  come. 

So  he  sat,  erect  and  motionless  as  a  statue  of 

309 


iron,  half  hearing  the  reading  of  the  long  intrL 
cately- worded  bills,  absorbed  in  many  thoughts 
of  past  and  present  things.  At  last  the  reading 
ended,  and  then  he  calmly  and  composedly  obeyed, 
under  the  direction  of  his  attorney,  the  several 
forms  and  ceremonies  that  followed ;  answered 
the  various  official  questions,  took  the  various 
oaths.  Then  Gascoyne,  leading  the  horse  by  the 
bridle-rein,  conducted  him  back  to  his  station  at 
the  east  end  of  the  lists. 

As  the  faithful  friend  and  squire  made  one  last 
and  searching  examination  of  arms  and  armor, 
the  Marshal  and  the  clerk  came  to  the  young 
champion  and  administered  the  final  oath  by 
which  he  swore  that  he  carried  no  concealed 
weapons. 

The  weapons  allowed  by  the  High  Court  were 
then  measured  and  attested.  They  consisted  of 
the  long  sword,  the  short  sword,  the  dagger,  the 
mace,  and  a  weapon  known  as  the  hand-gisarm, 
or  glavelot — a  heavy  swordlike  blade  eight  palms 
long,  a  palm  in  breadth,  and  riveted  to  a  stout 
handle  of  wood  three  feet  long. 

The  usual  lance  had  not  been  included  in  the  list 

of  arms,  the  hand-gisarm  being  substituted  in  its 

place.     It  was  a  fearful  and  murderous  weapon, 

though   cumbersome,  unhandy,  and   ill   adapted 

for  quick  or  dexterous  stroke ;   nevertheless,  the 

310 


Earl  of  Alban  had  petitioned  the  King  to  have  it 
included  in  the  list,  and  in  answer  to  the  King's 
expressed  desire  the  Court  had  adopted  it  in  the 
stead  of  the  lance,  yielding  thus  much  to  the  royal 
wishes.  Nor  was  it  a  small  concession.  The 
hand-gisarm  had  been  a  weapon  very  much  in 
vogue  in  King  Richard's  day,  and  was  now  nearly 
if  not  entirely  out  of  fashion  with  the  younger 
generation  of  warriors.  The  Earl  of  Alban  was, 
of  course,  well  used  to  the  blade ;  with  Myles  it 
was  strange  and  new,  either  for  attack  or  in  de- 
fence. 

With  the  administration  of  the  final  oath  and , 
the  examination  of  the  weapons,  the  preliminary 
ceremonies  came  to  an  end,  and  presently  Myles 
heard  the  criers  calling  to  clear  the  lists.  As 
those  around  him  moved  to  withdraw,  the  young 
knight  drew  off  his  mailed  gauntlet,  and  gave 
Gascoyne's  hand  one  last  final  clasp,  strong,  ear- 
nest, and  intense  with  the  close  friendship  of 
young  manhood,  and  poor  Gascoyne  looked  up 
at  him  with  a  face  ghastly  white. 

Then  all  were  gone ;  the  gates  of  the  principal 
list  and  that  of  the  false  list  were  closed  clash- 
ing, and  Myles  was  alone,  face  to  face,  with  his 
mortal  enemy. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

There  was  a  little  while  of  restless,  rustling  si* 
lence,  during  which  the  Constable  took  his  place 
in  the  seat  appointed  for  him  directly  in  front  of 
and  below  the  King's  throne.  A  moment  or  two 
when  even  the  restlessness  and  the  rustling  were 
quieted,  and  then  the  King  leaned  forward  and 
spoke  to  the  Constable,  who  immediately  called 
out,  in  a  loud,  clear  voice, 

"  Let  them  go  !"  Then  again,  "  Let  them  go !" 
Then,  for  the  third  and  last  time,  "  Let  them  go 
and  do  their  endeavor,  in  God's  name  !" 

At  this  third  command  the  combatants,  each 
of  whom  had  till  that  moment  been  sitting  as 
motionless  as  a  statue  of  iron,  tightened  rein, 
and  rode  slowly  and  deliberately  forward  without 
haste,  yet  without  hesitation,  until  they  met  in 
the  very  middle  of  the  lists. 

In  the  battle  which  followed,  Myles  fought  with 

the  long  sword,  the  Earl  with  the  hand-gisarm  for 

which  he  had  asked.    The  moment  they  met,  the 

312 


combat  was  opened,  and  for  a  time  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  thunderous  clashing  and  clamor  of 
blows,  now  and  then  rising  with  a  ceaseless  up- 
roar and  din,  now  and  then  beating  intermittent- 
ly, now  and  then  pausing.  Occasionally,  as  the 
combatants  spurred  together,  checked,  wheeled, 
and  recovered,  they  would  be  hidden  for  a  mo- 
ment in  a  misty  veil  of  dust,  which,  again  drifting 
down  the  wind,  perhaps  revealed  them  drawn  a 
little  apart,  resting  their  panting  horses.  Then, 
again,  they  would  spur  together,  striking  as  they 
passed,  wheeling  and  striking  again. 

Upon  the  scaffolding  all  was  still,  only  now 
and  then  for  the  buzz  of  muffled  exclamations  or 
applause  of  those  who  looked  on.  Mostly  the  ap- 
plause was  from  Myles's  friends,  for  from  the  very 
first  he  showed  and  steadily  maintained  his  ad- 
vantage over  the  older  man.  "Hah  !  well  struck! 
well  recovered !"  "  Look  ye !  the  sword  bit  that 
time !"  "  Nay,  look,  saw  ye  him  pass  the  point 
of  the  gisarm  ?"  Then,  "  Falworth  !  Falworth !" 
as  some  more  than  usually  skilful  stroke  or  parry 
occurred. 

Meantime  Myles's  father  sat  straining  his  sight- 
less eyeballs,  as  though  to  pierce  his  body's  dark- 
ness with  one  ray  of  light  that  would  show  him 
how  his  boy  held  his  own  in  the  fight,  and  Lord 
Mackworth,  leaning  with  his   lips  close  to  the 

3*3 


blind  man's  ear,  told  him  point  by  point  how  the 
battle  stood. 

"  Fear  not,  Gilbert,"  said  he  at  each  pause  in 
the  fight.  "  He  holdeth  his  own  right  well." 
Then,  after  a  while :  "  God  is  with  us,  Gilbert 
Alban  is  twice  wounded  and  his  horse  faileth. 
One  little  while  longer  and  the  victory  is  ours !" 

A  longer  and  more  continuous  interval  of  com- 
bat followed  this  last  assurance,  during  which 
Myles  drove  the  assault  fiercely  and  unrelent- 
ingly as  though  to  overbear  his  enemy  by  the 
very  power  and  violence  of  the  blows  he  deliv- 
ered. The  Earl  defended  himself  desperately, 
but  was  borne  back,  back,  back,  farther  and  far- 
ther. Every  nerve  of  those  who  looked  on  was 
stretched  to  breathless  tensity,  when,  almost  as 
his  enemy  was  against  the  barriers,  Myles  paused 
and  rested. 

"  Out  upon  it !"  exclaimed  the  Earl  of  Mack- 
worth,  almost  shrilly  in  his  excitement,  as  the  sud- 
den lull  followed  the  crashing  of  blows.  "Why 
doth  the  boy  spare  him  ?  That  is  thrice  he  hath 
given  him  grace  to  recover;  an  he  had  pushed 
the  battle  that  time  he  had  driven  him  back 
against  the  barriers." 

It  was  as  the  Earl  had  said ;  Myles  had  three 
times  given  his  enemy  grace  when  victory  was 

almost  in  his  very  grasp.     He  had  three  times 

314 


spared  him,  in  spite  of  all  he  and  those  dear  to 
him  must  suffer  should  his  cruel  and  merciless 
enemy  gain  the  victory.  It  was  a  false  and  fool- 
ish generosity,  partly  the  fault  of  his  impulsive 
youth — more  largely  of  his  romantic  training  in 
the  artificial  code  of  French  chivalry.  He  felt 
that  the  battle  was  his,  and  so  he  gave  his  enemy 
these  three  chances  to  recover,  as  some  chevalier 
or  knight  -  errant  of  romance  might  have  done, 
instead  of  pushing  the  combat  to  a  mercifully 
speedy  end — and  his  foolish  generosity  cost  him 
dear. 

In  the  momentary  pause  that  had  thus  stirred 
the  Earl  of  Mackworth  to  a  sudden  outbreak,  the 
Earl  of  Alban  sat  upon  his  panting,  sweating 
war-horse,  facing  his  powerful  young  enemy  at 
about  twelve  paces  distant.  He  sat  as  still  as  a 
rock,  holding  his  gisarm  poised  in  front  of  him. 
He  had,  as  the  Earl  of  Mackworth  had  said,  been 
wounded  twice,  and  each  time  with  the  point  of 
the  sword,  so  much  more  dangerous  than  a  direct 
cut  with  the  weapon.  One  wound  was  beneath 
his  armor,  and  no  one  but  he  knew  how  serious 
it  might  be ;  the  other  was  under  the  overlapping 
of  the  epauliere,  and  from  it  a  finger's-breadth  of 
blood  ran  straight  down  his  side  and  over  the 
housings  of  his  horse.  From  without,  the  still 
motionless  iron  figure  appeared  calm  and  expres- 

315 


sionless;  within,  who  knows  what  consuming 
blasts  of  hate,  rage,  and  despair  swept  his  heart 
as  with  a  fiery  whirlwind. 

As  Myles  looked  at  the  motionless,  bleeding 
figure,  his  breast  swelled  with  pity.  "My  Lord," 
said  he,  "thou  art  sore  wounded  and  the  fight  is 
against  thee;  wilt  thou  root  yield  thee?" 

No  one  but  that  other  heard  the  speech,  and 
no  one  but  Myles  heard  the  answer  that  came 
back,  hollow,  cavernous,  "Never,  thou  dog! 
Never!" 

Then  in  an  instant,  as  quick  as  a  flas'h,  'his 
enemy  spurred  straight  upon  Myles,  and  as  he 
spurred  he  struck  a  last  desperate, swinging  blow, 
in  which  he  threw  in  one  final  effort  all  the 
strength  of  hate,  of  fury,  and  'of  despair.  Myles 
whirled  his  'horse  backward,  warding  the  blow 
with  his  shield  as  he  did  so.  The  blade  glanced 
from  the  smooth  face  of  the  shield,  and,  whether 
by  mistake  or  not,  fell  straight  and  true,  and  with 
almost  undiminished  force,  upon  the  neck  of 
Myles's  war-horse,  and  just  behind  the  ears.  The 
animal  staggered  forward,  and  then  fell  upon  its 
knees,  and  at  the  same  instant  the  other,  as 
though  by  the  impetus  of  the  rush,  dashed  full 
upon  it  with  all  the  momentum  lent  by  the 
weight  of  iron  it  carried.  The  shock  was  irresist- 
ible, and  the  stunned  and  wounded  horse  was 

316 


flung  upon  the  ground,  rolling  over  and  over. 
As  his  horse  fell,  Myles  wrenched  one  of  his  feet 
out  of  the  stirrup;  the  other  caught  for  an  in- 
stant, and  he  was  flung  headlong  with  stunning 
violence,  his  armor  crashing  as  he  fell.  In  the 
cloud  of  dust  that  arose  no  one  could  see  just 
what  happened,  but  that  what  was  done  was  done 
deliberately  no  one  doubted.  The  Earl,  at  once 
checking  and  spurring  his  foamingcharger,  drove 
the  iron-shod  war-horse  directly  over  Myles's 
prostrate  body.  Then,  checking  him  fiercely  with 
the  curb,  reined  him  back,  the  hoofs  clashing  and 
crashing,  over  the  figure  beneath.  So  he  had  rid- 
den over  the  father  at  York,  and  so  he  rode  over 
the  son  at  Smithfield. 

Myles,  as  he  lay  prostrate  and  half  stunned  by 
his  fall,  had  seen  his  enemy  thus  driving  his  rear- 
ing horse  down  upon  him,  but  was  not  able  to 
defend  himself.  A  fallen  knight  in  full  armor 
was  utterly  powerless  to  rise  without  assistance; 
Myles  lay  helpless  in  the  clutch  of  the  very  iron 
that  was  his  defence.  He  closed  his  eyes  invol- 
untarily, and  then  horse  and  rider  were  upon  him. 
There  was  a  deafening,  sparkling  crash,  a  glim- 
mering f  aintness,  then  another  crash  as  the  horse 
was  reined  furiously  back  again,  and  then  a  hum- 
ming stillness. 

In  a  moment,  upon  me  scaffolding  all  was  a 
317 


tumult  of  uproar  and  confusion,  shouting  and 
gesticulation ;  only  the  King  sat  calm,  sullen,  im- 
passive. The  Earl  wheeled  his  horse  and  sat  for 
a  moment  or  two  as  though  to  make  quite  sure 
that  he  knew  the  King's  mind.  The  blow  that 
had  been  given  was  foul,  unknightly,  but  the  King 
gave  no  sign  either  of  acquiescence  or  rebuke; 
he  had  willed  that  Myles  was  to  die. 

Then  the  Earl  turned  again,  and  rode  deliber- 
ately up  to  his  prostrate  enemy. 

When  Myles  opened  his  eyes  after  that  mo- 
ment of  stunning  silence,  it  was  to  see  the  other 
looming  above  him  on  his  war-horse,  swinging 
his  gisarm  for  one  last  mortal  blow — pitiless, 
merciless. 

The  sight  of  that  looming  peril  brought  back 
Myles's  wandering  senses  like  a  flash  of  light- 
ning. He  flung  up  his  shield,  and  met  the  blow 
even  as  it  descended,  turning  it  aside.  It  only 
protracted  the  end. 

Once  more  the  Earl  of  Alban  raised  the  gis- 
arm, swinging  it  twice  around  his  head  before  he 
struck.  This  time,  though  the  shield  glanced  it, 
the  blow  fell  upon  the  shoulder -piece,  biting 
through  the  steel  plate  and  leathern  jack  beneath 
even  to  the  bone.  Then  Myles  covered  his  head 
with  his  shield  as  a  last  protecting  chance  for 

life. 

318 


For  the  third  time  the  Earl  swung  the  blade 
flashing,  and  then  it  fell,  straight  and  true,  upon 
the  defenceless  body,  just  below  the  left  arm,  bit- 
ing deep  through  the  armor  plates.  For  an  in- 
stant the  blade  stuck  fast,  and  that  instant  was 
Myles's  salvation.  Under  the  agony  of  the  blow 
he  gave  a  muffled  cry,  and  almost  instinctively 
grasped  the  shaft  of  the  weapon  with  both  hands. 
Had  the  Earl  let  go  his  end  of  the  weapon,  he 
would  have  won  the  battle  at  his  leisure  and 
most  easily ;  as  it  was,  he  struggled  violently  to 
wrench  the  gisarm  away  from  Myles.  In  that 
short,  fierce  struggle  Myles  was  dragged  to  his 
knees,  and  then,  still  holding  the  weapon  with 
one  hand,  he  clutched  the  trappings  of  the  Earl's 
horse  with  the  other.  The  next  moment  he  was 
upon  his  feet.  The  other  struggled  to  thrust 
him  away,  but  Myles,  letting  go  the  gisarm,  which 
he  held  with  his  left  hand,  clutched  him  tightly 
by  the  sword-belt  in  the  intense,  vise-like  grip  of 
despair.  In  vain  the  Earl  strove  to  beat  him 
loose  with  the  shaft  of  the  gisarm,  in  vain  he 
spurred  and  reared  his  horse  to  shake  him  off; 
Myles  held  him  tight,  in  spite  of  all  his  struggles. 

He  felt  neither  the  streaming  blood  nor  the 
throbbing  agony  of  his  wounds ;  every  faculty  of 
soul,  mind,  body,  every  power  of  life,  was  centred 
in  one  intense,  burning  effort.     He  neither  felt, 

319 


thought,  nor  reasoned,  but  clutching,  with  the 
blindness  of  instinct,  the  heavy,  spiked,  iron- 
headed  mace  that  hung  at  the  Earl's  saddle-bow, 
he  gave  it  one  tremendous  wrench  that  snapped 
the  plaited  leathern  thongs  that  held  it  as  though 
they  were  skeins  of  thread.  Then,  grinding  his 
teeth  as  with  a  spasm,  he  struck  as  he  had  never 
struck  before — once,  twice,  thrice  full  upon  the 
front  of  the  helmet.  Crash !  crash  !  And  then, 
even  as  the  Earl  toppled  sidelong,  crash !  And 
the  iron  plates  split  and  crackled  under  the  third 
blow.  Myles  had  one  flashing  glimpse  of  an  aw- 
ful face,  and  then  the  saddle  was  empty. 

Then,  as  he  held  tight  to  the  horse,  panting, 
dizzy,  sick  to  death,  he  felt  the  hot  blood  gush- 
ing from  his  side,  filling  his  body  armor,  and 
staining  the  ground  upon  which  he  stood.  Still 
he  held  tightly  to  the  saddle-bow  of  the  fallen 
man's  horse  until,  through  his  glimmering  sight, 
he  saw  the  Marshal,  the  Lieutenant,  and  the  at- 
tendants gather  around  him.  He  heard  the  Mar- 
shal ask  him,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  faint  and 
distant,  if  he  was  dangerously  wounded.  He  did 
not  answer,  and  one  of  the  attendants,  leaping 
from  his  horse,  opened  the  umbril  of  his  helmet, 
disclosing  the  dull,  hollow  eyes,  the  ashy,  colorless 
lips,  and  the  waxy  forehead,  upon  which  stood 

great  beads  of  sweat 

320 


r!*fcli***iffl~; 


' 


"He  held  tightly  to  the  fallen  man's  horse' 


Out 

[See  p.  320] 


11  Water !  water !"  he  cried,  hoarsely ;  "  give  me 
to  drink !"  Then,  quitting  his  hold  upon  the 
horse,  he  started  blindly  across  the  lists  towards 
the  gate  of  the  barrier.  A  shadow  that  chilled 
his  heart  seemed  to  fall  upon  him.  "  It  is  death," 
he  muttered ;  then  he  stopped,  then  swayed  for 
an  instant,  and  then  toppled  headlong,  crashing 
as  he  fell. 


CONCLUSION. 

But  Myles  was  not  dead.  Those  who  had 
seen  his  face  when  the  umbril  of  the  helmet  was 
raised,  and  then  saw  him  fall  as  he  tottered  across 
the  lists,  had  at  first  thought  so.  But  his  faint- 
ness  was  more  from  loss  of  blood  and  the  sud- 
den unstringing  of  nerve  and  sense  from  the  in- 
tense furious  strain  of  the  last  few  moments  of 
battle  than  from  the  vital  nature  of  the  wound. 
Indeed,  after  Myles  had  been  carried  out  of  the 
lists  and  laid  upon  the  ground  in  the  shade  be- 
tween the  barriers,  Master  Thomas,  the  Prince's 
barber- surgeon,  having  examined  the  wounds, 
declared  that  he  might  be  even  carried  on  a  cov- 
ered litter  to  Scotland  Yard  without  serious  dan- 
ger. The  Prince  was  extremely  desirous  of  having 
him  under  his  care,  and  so  the  venture  was  tried. 
Myles  was  carried  to  Scotland  Yard,  and  perhaps 
was  none  the  worse  therefore. 

The  Prince,  the  Earl  of  Mackworth,  and  two 

or  three  others  stood  silently  watching  as  the 

322 


worthy  shaver  and  leecher,  assisted  by  his  appren- 
tice and  Gascoyne,  washed  and  bathed  the  great 
gaping  wound  in  the  side,  and  bound  it  with 
linen  bandages.  Myles  lay  with  closed  eyelids, 
still,  pallid,  weak  as  a  little  child.  Presently  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  turned  them,  dull  and  lan- 
guid, to  the  Prince. 

"What  hath  happed  my  father,  my  Lord?" 
said  he,  in  a  faint,  whispering  voice. 

"  Thou  hath  saved  his  life  and  honor,  Myles," 
the  Prince  answered.  "  He  is  here  now,  and  thy 
mother  hath  been  sent  for,  and  cometh  anon 
with  the  priest  who  was  with  them  this  morn." 

Myles  dropped  his  eyelids  again ;  his  lips 
moved,  but  he  made  no  sound,  and  then  two 
bright  tears  tricked  across  his  white  cheek. 

"  He  maketh  a  woman  of  me,"  the  Prince  mut- 
tered through  his  teeth,  and  then,  swinging  on 
his  heel,  he  stood  for  a  long  time  looking  out  of 
the  window  into  the  garden  beneath. 

"  May  I  see  my  father  ?"  said  Myles,  presently, 
without  opening  his  eyes. 

The  Prince  turned  around  and  looked  inquir- 
ingly at  the  surgeon. 

The  good  man  shook  his  head.  "  Not  to-day," 
said  he;  "haply  to-morrow  he  may  see  him  and 
his  mother.  The  bleeding  is  but  new  stanched, 
and  such  matters  as  seeing  his  father  and  mother 

323 


may  make  the  heart  to  swell,  and  so  maybe  the 
wound  burst  afresh  and  he  die.  An  he  would 
hope  to  live,  he  must  rest  quiet  until  to-morrow 
day." 

But  though  Myles's  wound  was  not  mortal,  it 
was  very  serious.  The  fever  which  followed  lin- 
gered longer  than  common — perhaps  because  of 
the  hot  weather — and  the  days  stretched  to  weeks, 
and  the  weeks  to  months,  and  still  he  lay  there, 
nursed  by  his  mother  and  Gascoyne  and  Prior 
Edward,  and  now  and  again  by  Sir  James  Lee. 

One  day,  a  little  before  the  good  priest  re- 
turned to  Saint  Mary's  Priory,  as  he  sat  by  Myles's 
bedside,  his  hands  folded,  and  his  sight  turned 
inward,  the  young  man  suddenly  said,  "  Tell  me, 
holy  father,  is  it  always  wrong  for  man  to  slay 
man  ?" 

The  good  priest  sat  silent  for  so  long  a  time 
that  Myles  began  to  think  he  had  not  heard  the 
question.  But  by- and -by  he  answered,  almost 
with  a  sigh,  "  It  is  a  hard  question,  my  son,  but 
I  must  in  truth  say,  meseems  it  is  not  always 
wrong." 

"  Sir,"  said  Myles,  "  I  have  been  in  battle  when 
men  were  slain,  but  never  did  I  think  thereon  as 
I  have  upon  this  matter.  Did  I  sin  in  so  slaying 
my  father's  enemy  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Prior  Edwards,  quietly,  "  thou  didst 
324 


not  sin.  It  was  for  others  thou  didst  fight,  my 
son,  and  for  others  it  is  pardonable  to  do  battle. 
Had  it  been  thine  own  quarrel,  it  might  haply 
have  been  more  hard  to  have  answered  thee." 

Who  can  gainsay,  even  in  these  days  of  light, 
the  truth  of  this  that  the  good  priest  said  to  the 
sick  lad  so  far  away  in  the  past? 

One  day  the  Earl  of  Mackworth  came  to  visit 
Myles.  At  that  time  the  young  knight  was  mend- 
ing, and  was  sitting  propped  up  with  pillows,  and 
was  wrapped  in  Sir  James  Lee's  cloak,  for  the 
day  was  chilly.  After  a  little  time  of  talk,  a 
pause  of  silence  fell. 

"  My  Lord,"  said  Myles,  suddenly,  "  dost  thou 
remember  one  part  of  a  matter  we  spoke  of  when 
I  first  came  from  France?1' 

The  Earl  made  no  pretence  of  ignorance.  "  I 
remember,"  said  he,  quietly,  looking  straight  into 
the  young  man's  thin  white  face. 

"  And  have  I  yet  won  the  right  to  ask  for  the 
Lady  Alice  de  Mowbray  to  wife  ?"  said  Myles, 
the  red  rising  faintly  to  his  cheeks. 

"  Thou  hast  won  it,"  said  the  Earl,  with  a 
-smile. 

Myles's  eyes  shone  and  his  lips  trembled  with 
the  pang  of  sudden  joy  and  triumph,  for  he  was 
still  very  weak.     "  My  Lord,"  said  he,  presently, 

325 


"  belike  thou  earnest  here  to  see  me  for  this  vt 
matter?" 

The  Earl  smiled  again  without  answering,  a  i 
Myles  knew  that  he  had  guessed  aright.  He 
reached  out  one  of  his  weak,  pallid  hands  from 
beneath  the  cloak.  The  Earl  of  Mackworth  took 
it  with  a  firm  pressure,  then  instantly  quitting  it 
again,  rose,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  emotion,  stamped 
his  feet,  as  though  in  pretence  of  being  chilled 
and  then  crossed  the  room  to  where  the  fire 
crackled  brightly  in  the  great  stone  fireplace. 

Little  else  remains  to  be  told;  only  a  few  loo :•*■ 
strands  to  tie,  and  the  story  is  complete. 

Though  Lord  Falworth  was  saved  from  death 
at  the  block,  though  his  honor  was  cleansed  from 
stain,  he  was  yet  as  poor  and  needy  as  ever. 
The  King,  in  spite  of  all  the  pressure  brought  ?  o 
bear  upon  him,  refused  to  restore  the  estates  of 
Falworth  and  Easterbridge — the  latter  of  which 
had  again  reverted  to  the  crown  upon  the  death 
of  the  Earl  of  Alban  without  issue  —  upon  the 
grounds  that  they  had  been  forfeited  not  because 
of  the  attaint  of  treason,  but  because  of  Lord 
Falworth  having  refused  to  respond  to  the  cita- 
tion of  the  courts.  So  the  business  dragged 
along  for  month   after  month,  until  in  January 

the  King  died  suddenly  in  the  Jerusalem  Cham- 

326 


ber  at  Westminster.  Then  matters  went  smooth- 
ly  enough,  and  Falworth  and  Mackworth  swam 
upon  the  flood-tide  of  fortune. 

So  Myles  was  married,  for  how  else  should  the 
story  end  ?  And  one  day  he  brought  his  beauti- 
ful  young  wife  home  to  Falworth  Castle,  which 
his  father  had  given  him  for  his  own,  and  at  the 
gate-way  of  which  he  was  met  by  Sir  James  Lee 
and  by  the  newly -knighted  Sir  Francis  Gas- 
coyne. 

One  day,  soon  after  this  home-coming,  as  he 
stood  with  her  at  an  open  window  into  which 
came  blowing  the  pleasant  May- time  breeze,  he 
suddenly  said,  "  What  didst  thou  think  of  me 
when  I  first  fell  almost  into  thy  lap,  like  an  apple 
from  heaven  ?" 

" 1  thought  thou  wert  a  great,  good  -  hearted 
boy,  as  I  think  thou  art  now,"  said  she,  twisting 
his  strong,  sinewy  fingers  in  and  out. 

"  If  thou  thoughtst  me  so  then,  what  a  very 
fool  I  must  have  looked  to  thee  when  I  so  clum- 
sily besought  thee  for  thy  favor  for  my  jousting 
at  Devlen.     Did  I  not  so  ?" 

"  Thou  didst  look  to  me  the  most  noble,  hand- 
some young  knight  that  did  ever  live ;  thou  didst 
look  to  me  Sir  Galahad,  as   they  did  call  thee, 

withouten  taint  or  stain." 

327 


Myles  did  not  even  smile  in  answer,  but  looked 
at  his  wife  with  such  a  look  that  she  blushed  a 
rosy  red.  Then,  laughing,  she  slipped  from  his 
hold,  and  before  he  could  catch  her  again  was 
gone. 

I  am  glad  that  he  was  to  be  rich  and  happy 
and  honored  and  beloved  after  all  his  hard  and 
noble  fighting. 


THE    END. 


